Pony Trek
by katia1
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! Syd and Nigel have three days to locate a mediaeval relic. Standing in their way are rival Relic Hunters, hungry ponies, and a Druidic cult who may have Nigel sized up for human sacrifice. Will there be time to sense the love in the air?
1. Pub grub

**PART OF THE K AND A SHARED UNIVERSE SERIES AND A BIRTHDAY FIC FOR IVORYROSE. **

**Disclaimers: I don't own Sydney and Nigel or any other Relic Hunter characters. I have 'borrowed' a few names and places from the novels of Thomas Hardy but, then again, so did JK Rowling, and she gets paid a lot more than I do. The rest belongs to me!**

Pony Trek

by Katy

_As the beasts closed in around him, Nigel Bailey vowed he would defend what was his to the death._

_The hedge blocking his escape rose as high as the heavens, while the grass beneath his feet encircled his ankles like bindweed. Rooting him to the spot, it grew in perfect harmony with his ever swelling fear. In the distance, his enemies bayed and cheered, urging on his destruction, demanding his inevitable pain._

_Now he could smell the harsh breath of the predators, and was imaging only too clearly the damage their grinding teeth would do to his delicate flesh. The leader was just inches away._

'_I won't give in,' vowed Nigel. 'Not without a struggle…' _

_He lifted his chin defiantly and looked straight into his persecutors eyes. The glare that greeted him snatched his breath, and only a great effort prevented his legs giving way. At that moment, Nigel knew that he looked straight into the pits of hell. _

_In all of his 11 years, he had never been so scared…_

………………………………………………………….………………………………….

**Seventeen years later….**

Nigel's face lit up in delight as the voluptuous brunette from the bar sauntered over with their meals. She laid in front of him one large steak-and-ale pie with veg and extra chips.

'There you go, angel,' purred the waitress in a soft, West Country accent. 'And one salad for the lady.' Sydney's meal was delivered, unlike Nigel's, minus the obvious dose of lust.

'Thank you, this looks marvellous!' beamed Nigel.

'My pleasure,' gushed the waitress. It very obviously was. Tess ignored Sydney's relatively icy thanks and wandered back to serve two gin and lemonades to somebody else. She adjusted her creamy milkmaid top, wiggled her bottom provocatively and wondered if Sydney and Nigel were 'together.'

'Ah, this is the life, isn't it?' Nigel took a glug of red wine, unrolled his cutlery from a paper napkin, and prepared to tuck into his enticing and sizeable meal.

'Is it?' asked Syd. Her voice, like her demeanour, was uncharacteristically dull and flat.

It had all began so intriguingly. Two days ago, Sydney Fox had received a mysterious, ancient key and a begging letter from the curator of the Museum in Wintoncester, England. The curator, Giles Applethorpe, had been researching the whereabouts of a golden staffbelonging to a mediaeval bishop of Wintoncester, Odo. He believed the key was to its hidden resting place.

Odo, notoriously, had not been the most Christian of bishops. He was rumoured to have worshipped nature more than God, and was allegedly insane. All of this meant that his staff was of great historical value and believed to have supernatural powers: it was a natural target for a keen Relic Hunter.

Giles had discovered this to his cost. As he deciphered some mediaeval Latin symbols engraved on the font in Wintoncester Cathedral, he was attacked by a hooded man and the best of his research was stolen. Fearful, he sent all that remained - the key - straight to Sydney, with the ominous warning that the missing papers revealed that the hidden chamber was in the middle of the Great South Wessex Forest, and could only be revealed by the rising of the sun on the first day of spring – one week from then! If the thief was to be stopped in time, he needed her help…

'It sounded great when we got on the plane over here: all we had was a key, a rival, and a deadline,' complained Sydney. 'But then we arrived and found out find out that the rival was Reiner…'

'He's not the stupidest Relic Hunter we've faced, Syd,' chipped in Nigel. 'Remember that time he got away with one of your Incan daggers? He's way better than, um, Stewie…'

'That's not saying much,' snarled Sydney. 'Anyway, it's irrelevant since he's gone and got himself arrested … '

Kurt Reiner had been apprehended by the Wintoncester authorities the day before, for a public misdemeanour involving a stolen mediaeval illuminated manuscript, a pair of stiletto heels, and a small, one-eyed donkey. The donkey had not been harmed, and had lost its eye several years prior to the incident.

'Did they get all the stolen research back from him?'

'Yup, I think so. Giles said he'd drop it over to the pub this evening.' Sydney and Nigel were not staying in Wintoncester, but at the Flighty Filly Inn in the tiny village of Little Hintock, nestling on the edge of the Great Forest.

Nigel swallowed a juicy mouthful of pie. 'What's the problem, then? Surely all we've got to do now is spend the three days left until the first day of spring eating a few nice meals in this cosy pub, getting some long, restful nights sleep, and taking some uneventful strolls in the Great Forest piecing together Giles's research? What could be more pleasant?'

The sharp wince on Sydney's face said it all.

'Ah… so that's the problem,' said Nigel, laying his fork down suddenly. 'No rival relic hunters, no sense of danger, only a gentle race against time… you're bored!'

'It's not that,' hissed Sydney.

'Yes it is!'

'No it isn't,' reiterated Sydney, although he had hit on an element of truth. She was a busy woman! Finding the relic excited her a little - it always did - but this one did not possess awesome power, as far as she knew, and wasn't about to fall into the hands of a homicidal maniac or a dodgy dealer. She glanced up furtively at her assistant, whilst chasing a slice of avocado around her plate. 'I suppose I'm a little bit… disappointed this doesn't look like it's going to be much of a challenge.'

'Why don't you see it as an opportunity to enjoy yourself, then? We could… treat this hunt like a holiday.'

Sydney glanced around the quiet, wood-panelled country pub and giggled. 'Little Hintock isn't much like my usual choice of holiday destination.'

'What's wrong with it? retorted Nigel. 'It's the perfect place for reading and relaxation! Granted, the night life might not be quite up to what you're used to in Hawaii, or Bali, or where have you…'

'You don't need nightlife when you're here for the annual Bunny Chase! Are you enjoying your meals?'

'Yes, thank you,' replied Nigel. The barmaid was now hovering over him again. 'What did you just say about Bunnies?'

'The annual Bunny Chase!' The young woman pointed to a poster advertising the said event, winked and then leaned towards Nigel confidentially. Sydney rolled her eyes and returned to her salad, but listened nevertheless.

'Every year on the eve of the first day of spring, all the single girls in the village run off into the Great Forest and, half an hour later, all the boys chase them. It's said that the boy who catches you, will be your future husband!'

'A pre-women's lib tradition, by any chance?' asked Sydney, curling her lip.

'It's been going on for centuries,' continued the waitress, still not ripping her eyes away from Nigel. 'Are you interested in history and local customs?'

'Yes…yes, very,' replied Nigel, blushing slightly. He had become very aware how low cut the waitress's blouse was; her cleavage was now suspended very close to his face. Averting his gaze, he added: 'Sydney - Professor Fox - and I are teachers of history, at a university in the States.'

'You're colleagues?' said the girl delightedly. 'How interesting! Well, in that case, you should definitely join in. I'm sure a few of the local girls would love to be caught by such a… clever historian. I'm Tess, by the way.'

'I'm Nigel. Very pleased to meet you.' Nigel held out his hand, but the formalities were cut short by an impatient cough from a large, bald man in a smart, navy blue jacket, who was waiting at the bar.

'I've got to go. Demanding peasants, I'm afraid. Are you staying here?'

Nigel nodded. 'Yes. Right here at the pub, for the next three days.'

'Great! We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other.'

Tess hurried off, and Sydney shot Nigel one of her best 'what's with that woman?' looks.

'Bunny chase?' She pronounced the words with disdain.

'It's probably just a bit of harmless fun, Syd. Good for the tourists, and all that.'

'Harmless fun that's degrading to women! Mind you, it looks like you've already caught _your_ Bunny.' She indicated with her eyes to Tess, who was now pulling a frothy headed pint of local real ale.

'The waitress?' replied Nigel, not quite feigning shock. 'No… seems like a nice girl, though.'

Sydney narrowed her eyes at him, her glare masking any hint of jealousy. 'Would you _like_ to catch her?'

'Tess? Oh no… not quite my type…' Sydney sent out a few particularly aggressive vibes, which caused Nigel to backtrack rapidly. 'Not that I'd want to catch any girl in the manner that you're alluding to. Degrading to women! Very wrong!' He shook his head and clicked his tongue.

Sydney's frown faded as she swallowed a laugh at his desperate attempt to appease her. Perusing her assistant affectionately, she decided he looked rather adorable, snuggled up in his warm, brown woolly jumper. His cheeks were glowing in the radiated heat from the open log fire. She felt a pang of guilt for diluting his obvious pleasure, and decided she might as well try and enjoy their little romp, the silly local customs and, most of all, his company.

'I guess it really is just a bit of harmless fun,' she conceded.

'Professor Sydney Fox? So sorry to interrupt your meal…'

Sydney turned smilingly to greet a chunky, round-faced man, over six-foot high and in his early 30s. His dark blonde hair was wet and windswept - it was stormy outside - and he was clad in a green wax overcoat.

'You must be Giles! Great to meet you - this is my assistant, Nigel Bailey.'

'Please to meet you, Nigel.' On cue, Nigel shook the man's hand politely.

'Do join us,' entreated Sydney.

Giles pulled over a chair and perched his rather large backside on the edge awkwardly. Sydney noted him glance furtively towards Tess and the bald man at the bar, who were engaged in a polite but meaningless conversation.

'Friends of yours?' asked Sydney.

'Oh…no, no.' Giles spoke quickly and quietly. 'The well-dressed bald gentleman is the mayor of Little Hintock, Mr Henchard. But I don't know many people around here at all.'

He hastily handed her a bulging A4 size brown leather wallet. 'Here's my research. It consists of the mediaeval manuscripts I found in the cathedral and the script that was on the carved font. Since I've got them back, I've finished translating them as far as I can from the mediaeval Latin and they reveal that the staff is hidden in a chamber in the middle of a stone circle.'

'I didn't know there was a stone circle in the Great Forest,' interjected Nigel.

'No,' replied Giles. 'Because it's hidden among the trees! I've already found several of the monoliths and I believe they're over 3000 years old - Neolithic! But the scripts claim that, unlike Stonehenge, the circle is aligned to the rising of the sun on the first day of spring, rather than midwinter. The mediaeval Bishop must have re-used them as a coded guide when he decided upon his hidden chamber.'

Nigel couldn't conceal his excitement: 'A Neolithic stone circle would be just as great a discovery as the relic!'

'I know!' ejaculated Giles. 'I can't tell you how grateful I am for helping me. It will be the most exciting find of my career! You still have the key I sent you?'

Nigel patted his rucksack. 'Right here!'

'Good, good…'

Tess was now flirting with some backpackers and the mayor, sipping his pint, was staring straight at them. Giles glanced cagily in his direction, inadvertently making Sydney and Nigel acutely aware of the bald man's interest. 'Between you and me,' whispered Giles, 'the sooner you find this thing and get it out of here, the better.'

'I thought you'd want it for Wintoncester museum?'

'No, no. That wouldn't be a good idea. It should be put somewhere secure, in the British Museum… or maybe you should take it back to America. Anyway, I'd better be off.' He rose hastily. 'Enjoy your stay. People come from miles around to see the wild ponies in the forest, you know?'

Nigel pulled a pained expression: 'I have no idea why!'

'Not a pony man? Never mind…' He patted Nigel on the knee, and hurried away.

'He seemed a little flighty,' commented Nigel. 'Do you think something was bothering him?'

'Maybe. I wonder why he's so keen that we take the relic away? Do you want to head out and start digging around tonight?'

Nigel looked distinctly unenthusiastic. 'Do we have to, Sydney? It's cold and wet out there, it's nearly 10 p.m., and we need to go through Giles's research first and …and…'

'And?'

'I'd like some pudding! They've got Treacle Tart, Granny Apple Crumble and Spotted Dick!'

'Spotted Dick?'

'Suet pudding with currants. It's great with whipped cream or custard.'

'I'm sure it is! I have no idea where you put it all.'

Nigel chewed and swallowed the last mouthful of his pie and beamed: 'I'm a growing boy!'

'Yeah - but not upwards!'

His grin turned to a scowl. 'That's not fair. Besides, since when have you developed an appetite like Claudia? What's with all this salad rubbish?'

Sydney sipped her wine and shrugged. 'An exciting hunt always gives me an appetite.'

'Oh, come on. Surely twitchy Giles has made your spider senses tingle a little? And that 'mayor' looks awfully interested in us…'

Sydney laughed, and almost betrayed a hint of excitement. 'You know, Nige, something definitely _was_ up with Giles. Maybe I will have some dessert after all!'

…………………………………………...

Two hours, two desserts and several more glasses of red wine later, Sydney unlocked the door of their bedroom, which was tucked away in the gables of the timber-framed pub. She switched on the lights to reveal two, neatly made single beds with chintz coverlets. A matching pair of bedside tables were adorned with spotless white cloths. With an adjoining bathroom, it seemed almost luxurious for £30 per person, per night.

'This looks lovely,' yawned Nigel, chivalrously throwing down his bag, and then himself, on the bed nearest the window and furthest from the radiator. 'I'm absolutely shattered.' He kicked off his boots and, still fully clothed, curled up on his side.

Sydney laid her satchel on the second bed, and smiled indulgently. 'Feeling the effects of the Beaujolais?

Nigel's eyes snapped open as he rolled back towards her. 'No! I _can_ take a few glasses without losing all my dignity. Has it occurred to you I might be suffering from jetlag?'

'Okay, Nige,' soothed Sydney. 'I'm not saying anything… I'm heading into the bathroom for a shower. Do you want me to turn the light off?'

'Don't mind,' replied Nigel sleepily, his eyes falling shut again. 'Won't make much difference…'

'Fine.' Sydney pulled pyjamas out of her bag, and picked up a folded white towel from the end of the bed. She paused a moment.

'Are _you_ going to sleep with your clothes on?'

'I'll change in a minute…' muttered Nigel. Sydney shrugged, and pulled her top off over her head, revealing her brown, lace underwear. She subtly peeped at Nigel, to check that his eyes were no longer shut, but simply narrowed and pretending to be. He then thoroughly betrayed his interest by displacing a stray lock of hair that blocked his vision with a short, sharp puff.

Turning away, Sydney smiled to herself. She casually acknowledged she would be disappointed if he _didn't_ want to look at her, particularly in that endearing, modest way of his. As she floated towards the bathroom, her thoughts meandered to the question of whether she would have to undress the sleeping T.A. herself when she returned from her shower. Almost subconsciously, she turned to the bedroom light off.

Shutting herself in the bathroom, however, Sydney wondered if it would be a good idea to leave the bedroom door open with the lights blazing. The bulb for the main light in the bathroom had gone: the whole room was lit dimly, and rather unflatteringly, by the little shaving lamp over the sink. Musing that she had nevertheless stayed in much worse places, Sydney pumped up the shower to its full power potential - which was rather lethargic - and stepped under the flow.

She was attempting to enjoy the less than invigorating impact of the lukewarm droplets, when she heard a rattle at the window. It was a rough evening, so she wasn't unduly alarmed. Her ever-ready senses went onto high alert, anyway.

A moment later, the noise came again. This time there was a definite jolt.

Sydney leapt from the shower and had her towel fixed around her in an instant. She yanked the window open with a vigorous thrust.

'Hey? Who's there?'

She was two storeys up, and anyone else would have been convinced there was nothing out there but rain, wind and darkness. Sydney's gut told her otherwise.

'Show yourself!'

Two jackboots, followed by a sturdy pair of legs, swung through the window from above. Sydney ducked out of the way in the nick of time. The body which followed the feet thudded onto the carpeted bathroom floor bringing down with them a cheap, Edwardian wash stand and a vase of flowers.

The floundering figure was wearing a long, white robe with a hood that hung low enough to cover the face. Sydney grabbed at the garment, pulling the not insubstantially-sized intruder to its feet and pushing them back against the wall. An ivory-handled knife dropped to the soft floor.

'If you're going for the Psycho remake,' she snarled. 'You'd better improve on the surprise factor and catch me while I'm still in the shower.' She shook the offender hard. 'Who the hell are you?'

As she reached to yank away the hood, her hand was swiped away by smarting blow. The newcomer used his bulk to throw her off and lunge for the knife. Sydney kicked at his head before he could reach it, and the impact sent him flying towards the bath. Grabbing desperately for the fallen vase, he flung it at Sydney, now primed with her fists for a fight. She ducked the missile effortlessly, and it crashed loudly against the door.

As Sydney went in for round three, the cry finally came:

' Sydney? Syd… what's going on in there?'

'We've got a visitor, Nigel… nothing I can't handle…'

The attacker jumped his feet as the door burst open. There stood Nigel, bootless and shirtless, brandishing the electric kettle.

Even as Sydney seized for the intruder, the hooded figure grabbed for their knife, darted for the window, leapt through the frame, and was gone.

Sydney flew after them even as her towel's tenuous hold on her modesty finally gave way. It slipped down around her knees, and it was all that even she could do not trip over it.

'Ooooh!' This time, Nigel turned away rapidly, his cheeks flaming bright red. 'Syd…um.'

'I know, Nigel!' snapped Sydney, hoisting back up the towel and leaning right out of the window. There was no sign of a ladder or rope. The intruder had either flown away, or climbed back over the roof. Either way, they were long gone.

Turning back to Nigel, Sydney was torn as to whether to laugh, be grateful or be angry. 'I told you not to interfere!' she retorted, not too crossly. 'Unbelievably, you scared him away…'

'He was attacking you!'

'Yeah, and I wanted to know why…damn.' Sydney chastised herself. She'd been momentarily distracted when Nigel burst in, and now finding out would be a lot harder.

Nigel let out a long breath and put down his kettle. 'Sorry.'

'I guess it wasn't your fault.' Sydney nodded towards the discarded 'weapon': 'What exactly were you intending to do with that?'

'Oh… I don't know. It was all I could grab at the spur of the moment. It might have boiled… a few hours ago.'

Sydney laughed. 'Oh well. It's a good job you weren't in a state of total undress like I was. Were you in the middle of changing?'

'No!' admitted Nigel. Reminded of his semi nudity, he dashed back into the bedroom and pulled his pyjama top out of his bag. 'This is as far as I got before I sort of dozed off… then I heard the commotion.'

'Is the research still there?'

Nigel dived under the bed to check where he had hidden it. 'Yup.' He emerged and yawned. 'Does this mean we have to go out looking for the intruder now?'

Wind and rain were still pounding against the window. Syd could read the lack of enthusiasm in Nigel's flat tone, even though he tried to conceal it.

'No. That rat is long gone. We'd better keep our eyes open tomorrow though, and make sure nobody tries to snatch the research. I've got a feeling he'll be back.'

'Lovely,' replied Nigel sardonically. They both concluded their transformation into their bedclothes just outside the others sightline.

'Who do think it was? Could they have let Reiner out?'

'It wasn't Reiner: it just wasn't his style. He could never keep his identity concealed that long… and he would have…' Sydney was going to say 'tried to pull the towel off,' but instead she concluded 'tried something cheap.'

'The mayor didn't seem to like the look of us.'

Sydney nodded. 'Yeah. It could have been him, or someone working for him. The white robes were distinctive - did you see the green and red embroidery at the bottom?'

'I didn't get a good look,' admitted Nigel. 'But the patterns did seem vaguely familiar…'

'Yeah? I've never seen them before. And then there was that knife. It looked like a mediaeval, pearl-handled one, which belonged in a scabbard.'

'Giles would have ready access to such a knife at the Museum!' exclaimed Nigel. 'But why would _he_ attack us?'

'I don't know,' said Sydney, thoughtfully. 'I've got a hunch it was a man… not your flirty waitress, that's for sure.'

Nigel slumped back down onto the bed and sighed. 'I suppose you're happy now.'

'What do you mean?'

'You thought this hunt was going to be too easy!'

Sydney wandered back into the bedroom, rubbing out the remainder of the dampness from her hair. 'I guess I did. I'd just rather the excitement stayed out of my shower!'

'Fair enough.' Nigel finally clambered under the bed covers and made himself comfortable. 'Night, Syd.'

Sydney switched off the light. 'Night.'

Sleep began to close in around her. After a few minutes, however, she opened her eyes with a start. The noise of the storm had evoked the beginnings of a nightmare.

Her vision forced upon her rattling windows, trees with twisted, groping branches, harsh, whirling wind and cutting, slicing rain. Amidst it all, were galloping demons of darkness. Nevertheless, as her rushing mind registered what they were, she had to laugh: the cause of her terror had been stampeding, teeth-baring ponies, cute and squat despite all their ferocity. Moreover, following on behind them were not the hounds of hell, but some vicious, foot-thumping, sharp-fanged bunnies.

Sydney dismissed it as she smoothed down the coverlet. She imagined Nigel dryly commenting that her dream conjured up visions of 'Bambi meets The Evil Dead.'

She would have been surprised to discover that, less than a metre away, Nigel had experienced some very similar delusions, and he was not dismissing it so lightly.

'Get over it, Nigel,' he berated himself. 'It happened well over 15 years ago… and they're just bloody ponies.' Deep down inside, however, he could not deny the awful truth: they were not _just_ ponies.

Something nasty lurked in the heart of the Great South Wessex Forest…

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	2. Mad Pony

**Disclaimers: Don't own Sydney and Nigel. **

**Thanks for the reviews and to those who put this story on alert. Much appreciated.**

**And now a dedication: Happy Birthday to Ivoryrose. This can be your birthday fic!**

……………………………………..

Despite the imagined onslaught of maniacal ponies, Sydney dropped off relatively quickly and slept soundly. It was after eight o'clock in the morning before either Sydney or Nigel awoke and realised that an early start was drifting fast off the agenda. By the time Nigel had finished his full English breakfast, complete with hash browns and worcester sauce, the sun was high in the cloudy sky. Sydney was getting impatient.

'I'm coming, I'm coming,' called Nigel, sprinting out of the door while still chewing his last piece of buttered toast. Sydney, raring to go in her stylish leather jacket and with her hair tied back in a ponytail, was already pacing down the public footpath. It wound off behind the pub and deep into the Great Forest. As she proceeded, she noted an ugly metal fire escape descending the far side of the building, right from the ledge of the sloping roof. 'So that's how they got in… and away,' she thought to herself, recalling the previous night's unwanted visitor. It was a timely reminder that this might be a rather challenging 'stroll' in the forest.

By this time, Nigel, who was wrapped up warm in a black wool coat and green scarf, had caught up with her.

'Have you got the key?' she asked.

'Yes. It's in my rucksack. And I've been doing some background research. That's what took me so long over breakfast.'

'Was it? I thought it was the sheer amount of food you consumed.'

'It was a good healthy breakfast - just what one needs with a long days hiking ahead!' Sydney shot him a skeptical look. 'It's got to be healthier than all those muffins and pancakes with maple syrup they serve you for breakfast on the East Coast!'

'I believe you, Nigel,' laughed Sydney. 'So what did you find?'

'Well, this Bishop Odo was a little strange, all right! Nobody knows anything about his background, but he had huge amounts of money and ended up master of Coombe Castle, over on the other side of the forest. What's more, he conducted some very dodgy rituals right here in the woods, where he used women priests - 700 years before the Church of England! He would have been excommunicated by the Pope, if it hadn't been for his pots of cash.'

Sydney was intrigued, and slightly amused: 'So Odo was a feminist Bishop?'

'Maybe. As for locating the staff itself, Giles' translation was… um, a little dodgy.' Nigel pulled a scrunched piece of paper from his bag and waved it in front of Sydney as she marched on. 'Giles thought that the key text he found on the medieval font meant: '_Life is found is at the heart of the complete number._' But I think he's misinterpreted the Latin word '_expletus_.' In this context, it makes more sense if it translates as '_perfect_.''

'Perfect numbers? You mean numbers that are equal to the sum of its divisors?'

'I think so. I thought it might relate to what you were telling me about the standing stones.'

Sydney regarded her assistant thoughtfully. Last night she had been checking out Giles' notes on the monoliths that he'd discovered in the forest. Each had Roman numerals carved on them. '_Life is found is at the heart of the perfect number,' _considered Syd. 'So you think we need to look for markers with perfect numbers on them?'

'It's possible. In mediaeval thinking six was considered the perfect number, because it is the first one that is equal to all of its factors, but more importantly because God created the world in six days…'

'You're right. At least that's what Thomas Aquinas thought! It might be as simple as marking each number seven on the map and joining them together to find a mid-point. Then again, it might not be… '

Sydney glanced at her pocket GPS. 'Giles's marker was about three kilometres in this direction. Let's go.'

They headed off across a boggy water meadow that squelched underfoot. In the corner, huddled together under a little copse of trees, were three shaggy wild ponies. None stood more than three or four foot high, and their dirty cream coats were marked with brown patches. Even though the morning was bright, the ponies looked miserable and soggy, still damp after the night's rain.

As they drew closer to the little animals, Sydney recalled her dream and laughed.

'They're kind of cute!'

'What…?' Nigel was, metaphorically speaking, miles away. He was trying to recall all he could about mediaeval mathematics. 'Oh… you mean the ponies? No they're not. They're evil!' He silently growled in the direction of the little animals.

'Evil?'

'I got bitten by one of those little buggers once. It didn't break the skin, but it gave me the biggest bruise I had ever had… until I started going on adventures with you, that is. It was bright purple! '

Sydney laughed. 'Oh, Nigel! You must have provoked it in some way.'

'No, I didn't! It provoked me…' Sydney raised her eyebrows quizzically.

Nigel's words were bitter: 'I was on scout camp, right here in the Great Forest. Preston was my patrol leader – lucky me! - and we were having a picnic. He was always stingy with the rations, particularly with mine because he thought I was, well, you know…podgy. Anyway, he gave me one packet of crisps – one lousy packet of salt and vinegar crisps - which was supposed to last me all day! Then I saw the pony coming at me and I knew he was only after one thing…'

Nigel broke off, and his features set hard as he remembered the emotional strain of the moment.

'So did it get your potato chips?' asked Sydney.

Nigel barely heard the question as he continued with his tragic tale. 'That pony just kept on coming. I began to run away, but it was with several of its sneaky pony friends and they trapped me in the corner of the field. Preston just laughed - and then none of the others dared help.'

'Nigel, I didn't realise…' It suddenly occurred to Sydney that she might be making light of a particularly traumatic childhood experience. 'How old were you?'

'I was eleven,' continued Nigel grimly. 'I was terrified, but I wasn't giving in. I looked straight into that pony's eyes and I saw…' He took a deep breath, as if he was reluctant to reveal the awful truth. 'I saw a heart of darkness.'

Sydney could contain herself no longer. Chastising herself as it happened, she laughed out loud.

'They're just animals, Nigel. They're not really evil.'

'It was evil! Anyway, it stuck out its nasty great noggin towards my salt and vinegar crisps, and I pulled them away sharp. Then it bit me - right on the arm.'

They were now passing another little clump of the offending beasties; three were a fluffy chestnut brown, and a further one was pure, coal black. They appeared very contented, chewing away at grass and leaves. 'It must have been a rogue pony,' observed Syd. 'This lot seems peaceful enough.'

'Heart of darkness,' muttered Nigel, as a dumpy little filly swished her tail at him. 'Heart – of - darkness!'

………………………….

There didn't seem to be any ponies in the forest itself, just bare branched trees. Delicate miniature daffodils protruded from a carpet of fallen leaves, their bright petals lurid against the moldering brown of the dead foliage.

After a few reflective minutes trek into the increasingly thick undergrowth, Sydney's GPS bleeped.

'The stone should be somewhere around here.'

'Fine, let's have a look for it.' Nigel spied a large, prickly holly bush and groaned. 'I bet it's in there somewhere…'

He headed off to have a look, as Sydney snanned around. She was barely a few metres from where the device had bleeped, and was istening to Nigel cursing the thorns in the holly, when she found herself in a clearing.

'Hey, Nige. Take a look at this.'

Nigel extracted himself and was at her shoulder in an instant.

'It's the first marker!' He pointed to a small standing stone, not much more than a foot high, tottering at the edge of the clearing. It had obviously only recently been uncovered; the branches that had previously concealed it has been hacked away. Somebody had also scrubbed away enough of the moss to reveal some Roman numerals.

Nigel threw down his rucksack and ran over to it.

'Number seven,' he said, running his fingers over the markings. 'That's _not_ a perfect number.' He pulled out his glasses and perched them on the end of his nose, in order to have a better look, and spotted some chalk markings over the indented number. 'Hmph. Look at this! Some philistine has scribbled some graffiti on it!'

Sydney was only half listening, busy inspecting the rest of the clearing. It displayed clear evidence of recent occupation. A fire had burnt to ashes in the middle; green leaves, white petals and a few stumps of candles were scattered around it. She noticed a strange, sweet scent, wafting on the air.

'It looks like Giles isn't the only person who has been here recently,' she muttered.

Nigel turned around quickly, absorbing what interested her. 'I wonder if somebody has used the clearing as a campsite? It was probably the same idiots who wrote on the stone.'

'Maybe,' replied Sydney thoughtfully. 'What's written on it?'

'It's just a scribble… oh, hold on.' He returned to have another look. 'Maybe it's a symbol. A circle with a cross sticking out the bottom. That's the ancient symbol for Venus… '

'… and the female.' finished Sydney. 'Maybe the women around here are finally getting some pride!'

'By defacing an ancient monument?' Nigel bristled visibly.

'I think it might mean something,' pondered Sydney. 'It looks like some sort of ritual went on here.'

A definite rustling came from the bushes on the other side of the clearing. Sydney turned with a start, spying a flash of white robe as somebody fled.

'Hey!'

Sydney plunged into the undergrowth after the spy. Twiggy branches flew in her face and thorns scratched her legs as she ran, hindering her progress. Nevertheless, wearing sturdy boots and tight black trousers, she was clad much better for running than her prey, who was encumbered with robes and sandals.

After a few seconds, she gained on them and grabbed the end of the white robe. It didn't pull away, but the wearer gave a cry - a decidedly feminine one - and tumbled to the ground.

'Professor Fox, please don't hurt me! I mean you no harm…'

'Who are you? Why were you watching us?'

No answer came. Sydney was about a haul her victim to its feet and make them talk, when the cry came from behind her.

'Sydney - come quickly! Aaaaargh!'

'Nigel!'

'Your friend could be in trouble…' The fallen woman's words came breathy and quick, but Sydney did not need to hear them. She cursed silently and charged back towards the clearing.

Before she could see her assistant, the yell came again, this time more desperate:

'Sydney!'

'Nigel! I'm coming!' As she burst into the opening, however, Sydney's fears that the white clad woman had been a diversion for a kidnap swiftly abated.

Nigel was still there, although he wasn't alone. He was standing on one side of the clearing, hugging his bag tightly, and staring daggers into the eyes of his persecutor: a particularly chunky, grey-coated pony. Although clearly wild like the others, it had a loose collar around its neck, attached for identification by the forest ranger. Its chin was adorned with a white, wispy beard and its mottled ears pointed forward like lopsided horns.

The pony was also looking at Nigel, but without the least alarm. Its teeth grinding from side to side, it chewed contentedly on a recent meal.

'I thought you were being attacked!'

Nigel screwed up his nose guiltily: 'I was… well, it wasn't exactly me. It was my bag…'

'Your bag?' articulated Sydney incredulously.

'I was about to chase after you, when I saw the beast enter the clearing out of the corner of my eye. I'd left the bag by the stone, and the evil creature cut me off at the pass! It has its nose in it before I could do anything. There was some food in the bag… '

'Are you trying to tell me that I let that woman get away to protect your mid-morning snack from a five foot high pony?'

Nigel grimaced again as he glanced into his rucksack, confirming the worst. 'It wasn't just the protein bars… he chewed on some of the research and…and…'

'And what?' demanded Sydney.

'I, um, I think he swallowed the key.'

'Well that's just great, isn't it?' Sydney glared at him. 'Can't I trust you with anything?'

'That's unfair! I told you, the ponies have got it in for me. They're evil!'

'They're just hungry, Nigel. You should have known not to leave your bag about with food in it.'

'Sorry,' muttered Nigel. He pulled out the mauled research and began smoothing it out against the stone, as Sydney regarded him, arms folded. He sighed heavily. 'You don't understand, Syd. It was like I was eleven again: that one pony felt like a whole gang of them. I could hear Preston laughing, and then I looked into its eyes…' He glanced up at the pony, which was still standing there innocently, and shuddered.

Sydney relented a little. 'It doesn't have a heart of darkness, Nigel.' She strode over and started helping him sort out the research. 'Sorry I snapped, but you need to get over this phobia…in fact, you're going to have to get over it quickly because we're following that pony until the key emerges at the other end.'

'Ugh!' This time, Nigel screwed up his nose in disgust. 'That could take ages.'

'Well it can't take any longer than two and a half days, or we will miss the window to open the secret chamber. We better find something to tether it up with.'

Nigel stared at her with a renewed horror. 'You can't possibly do that! These ponies were granted the freedom to wander the forest by William the Conqueror, no less. Tying up a Great Forest pony is a felony that still holds the penalty of death!'

'Death!? Oh, come on! That would never be enforced nowadays. Haven't you abolished capital punishment? Anyway, I know all about your mediaeval bylaws. Apparently, its still legal to shoot a Scotsman dead with a bow and arrow in the city of York. But I think if you actually _did_ it, you might be in some trouble. '

'I still don't think we should tie it up,' said Nigel adamantly. 'At the very least it would be… bad luck.'

'Since when were you superstitious?'

'I'm not…oh, I don't know. There is just something about this place that gives me the creeps. Heaven knows why people choose to come here for their summer holidays!'

'I guess tying up a wild pony would be a bit cruel,' said Sydney, her thoughts heading off on another tangent. The pony had stopped chewing now, and was hanging its head wearily. 'Look, he's kind of tired after his meal. I don't think he's going to go far. We should go and try and find some other stone markers as quickly as possible, and then come back and keep an eye on him. Maybe if we can find a really long rope, it wouldn't be so bad…'

……………………………………….

Nigel and Sydney worked fast, and with some success. They found eleven other standing stones curving through the forest, two of which had number sixes on them.

'Two sixes might be enough!' observed Nigel as they uncovered the second one. He pencilled in the two locations on the map. 'As Giles predicted, the stones seem to be forming a circle, more like the one at Avebury than Stonehenge, but with smaller monoliths. If we join the two stones with sixes on them together, the midpoint might be the 'heart' we are looking for.'

He looked up from the map, perusing the small, limestone markers themselves. 'I still think that this stone circle is just as exciting as the medieval relic itself. If we can map it properly and prove its Neolithic precedent, this area could become nearly as famous as Stonehenge!'

'Yeah,' breathed Sydney, sharing his enthusiasm. 'I'm starting to believe it might have been worth the trip! But before we find anything else, we'd better check on that pony of yours.'

'Oh, that. I suppose we'd better.'

They dashed back to check that it was still asleep and where they had left it. After a moment of panic - the little nag was no longer in the clearing - they found it happily chomping at a bush nearby.

'Has it done its business?' asked Sydney. The pony let out a stuttering whinny, warily noticing their presence.

'How the hell should I know?' Nigel suspected he wouldn't like where this line of inquiry was going.

'Well, you'd better look for some evidence. The sooner we get the key back, the sooner we can leave the poor animal alone.'

Nigel groaned theatrically, and set about looking for piles of pony droppings. 'This is grose,' he complained. 'I can't believe we're searching for the key to a relic in pony poo.'

'You let him eat it!' pointed out Sydney. 'Besides, the droppings are just grass and leaves. It doesn't even smell that bad. It's sort of 'turfy.''

'It does to me!' moaned Nigel.' It smells of pony - it's enough to turn anybody's stomach.'

They both located piles of offending dung, and gingerly poked around with twigs and their boots. Even Sydney pinched her nose and cringed a little at a particularly fresh find.

Nevertheless, all they established was that no key had yet emerged.

'I have an idea,' said Sydney, pulling her location device from her pocket. 'These kinds of GPS tracking devices for hikers pick up each others signal if they're not too far off, in case anybody gets separated from the party. If I attach my one to the pony, we can use yours to navigate ourselves and keep tabs on it while we carry on with the hunt. We can even get the GPS to record the route it takes, so we can check any droppings. '

Nigel shrugged. 'Sounds like a good idea. How do you propose to attach it?'

'I thought I could somehow fix it to its collar…'

As if it understood her words, the pony instantly sensed it was under some sort of threat. Sydney crept calmly towards its side, but the little beast turned its bottom to her, puffed angrily and began scuffling its hooves.

'Careful Syd,' hissed Nigel. 'The devil might kick you!'

'It is not a devil,' emphasised Sydney. She backed away, nevertheless, realising she was not going to get close from this angle without gaining a large hoof-shaped bruise. 'Got any of those protein bars left in your bag?'

'There might have been a couple it didn't get its nasty little teeth around… oh God! You're not proposing I give them to it?'

'Have you got a better idea?'

'Oooh!' Nigel grumpily got out the bars and slowly unwrapped them. 'What you want to do?'

'Attract the pony's attention, and see if it will come to you and feed. I'll then try and attach the device.'

'It will have my fingers off!'

'Nigel!'

Nigel reluctantly obeyed, and whistled at the pony to get its attention. Turning its head slowly, the pony spied more of its earlier treats, and trotted over. As it approached, Nigel dropped the snacks to the ground and let it get on with it. He wasn't risking losing his fingers unless he really had to, not even for Sydney!

As the pony munched happily, Sydney quickly slipped the device onto its collar.

'Well done, Syd,' whispered Nigel. 'Let's get out of here before it retaliates.'

'I think we're quite safe now,' responded Sydney, echoing his hushed tone. She regarded the little creature affectionately. She secretly thought it was adorable - not as adorable as she quietly thought Nigel was - but cute nevertheless.

'We should give him a name,' she suggested.

'Why on earth would we want to do that? It would imbue it with some sort humanity!'

'It's harmless enough, Nigel. I think we should call it…'

'Stewie!' jutted in Nigel. 'We should call it Stewie. If we're going to name that thing, we should name it after somebody you really hate!'

Sydney laughed. 'Okay. Stewie it is!' She had been about to suggest the name of a rotund, comic character from a lesser-known ancient Mongolian legend, but she decided that Stewie would do. After all, as much as she hated Stewie, he wasn't _really_ evil. He didn't, at least, have a heart of darkness…

…………………………………

Using maps and the single GPS, it didn't take Sydney and Nigel long to locate the 'heart' of the two perfect numbers. The spot was still in the woods, and didn't seem to be marked by any clearing. There was dense foliage but few nettles, which indicated that the ground had probably never been disturbed.

'Strange,' said Nigel, as he started rummaging around. 'I would have thought there'd be some sort of indication of earthworks, and that the ground would be more open. We might have to chop off a few tree branches if we're going to catch the sun on the first day of spring.'

'Yeah, strange,' echoed Sydney.

Sydney was becoming particularly twitchy: she sensed that somebody was following them.

'What is it?' hissed Nigel, picking up on her uneasy vibes. There was a distinct sound of breaking twigs not a few metres behind them in the direction that they had come.

'I think it might be more of our robed friends,' she whispered. 'Stay here.'

Silently as a deer, Sydney stalked into the undergrowth. A loud crunch came again, confirming her suspicions: somebody was definitely there.

Crouched behind the trunk of a fat horsechestnut tree, Sydney could see nothing. She waited until all was perfectly still, and then she sprang.

Poised with her arms and legs ready to spin into a defensive kick and blow, Sydney found herself face-to-face with her pursuer. The scruffy grey pony ground his teeth slowly as it chomped on some leaves.

'Stewie!' Sydney said the name with the same exasperation that she had uttered it with many times before.

'It's okay, Nigel,' she called, mildly embarrassed. 'The pony's been following us. I guess now we fed it, he thinks we're going to give it some more food!'

'Great!' came the reply. 'Now the bloody pony's stalking us. That's just peachy….' Nigel trailed off. She heard a scuffle and then his voice came again 'Sydney! Come quick!'

The cry was tinged with genuine fear. Sydney plummeted back towards which she had left him: her gut told her this wasn't just another of Nigel's pony 'friends'.

She was right. Sydney was confronted with the sight of two white-robed figures, neither of whom were the delicately sandaled female figure she had chased earlier.

One of them was delving through Nigel's rucksack. The other, wearing large black jackboots, was holding Nigel close against him with one chunky arm. His other hand held a distinctively carved knife to her assistant's throat.

'Syd…' Nigel had been the situation many times now, but he still looked terrified.

'Let him go,' snarled Sydney.

The reply came in a deep, querulous voice. 'Come one step closer, Sydney Fox, and your friend dies.'

………………………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	3. Cold, wet and warm

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the reviews. More please! **

**CHAPTER THREE: Cold, wet and warm.**

Nigel gritted his teeth as a shaky hand thrust the blade close against his flesh. Sydney could tell the knifeman wasn't a professional: that was what scared her. She honestly didn't think he would deliberately kill Nigel, but if she startled him, that knife could slip.

She raised hers hand slowly, as if to show she came in peace. 'Let him go,' she said placidly. 'You're going to hurt him.'

The captor flinched, as if disturbed by the concept. Panic flashed across Nigel's face as the steel nicked his flesh: 'Sydney…' he gasped.

'Put down the knife,' said Syd, moving half a step forward. She still couldn't see the hooded man's face, but she knew he was in a quandary. The consequences of sudden movements could still be fatal.

'I got it,' shouted the second man. 'All the research is here. Where's the key?'

'I'll tell you if you him go,' said Sydney. She couldn't prevent her calm voice cracking.

'It doesn't matter… let's get out of here.' Nigel's possessor whipped away the knife, and pushed his victim violently forward. Nigel landed in the leaves, even as Sydney launched into a high kick that sent the hooded menace flying back into a holly bush.

There was nothing she could do, however, when Nigel's rucksack impacted hard against the back of her head, swung by the second man. As her enemy ripped himself out of the way, it was Sydney who saw stars and descended, face first, into the prickly leaves. The hooded men fled.

'Sydney!'

Sydney was momentarily bewildered as Nigel began to carefully extract her from the viciously biting bush. The green shiny leaves were reluctant to let her go, tearing on her clothes and entangling in her hair. After a second, her wits returned, and she extricated herself, still with Nigel's help.

'Are you all right? You're bleeding!' He lifted a hand to her cheek and wiped the blood from below a bleeding scratch, careful not to touch the injury itself. 'Does it hurt?'

Sydney lifted her hand to his, and gently pushed it away. 'It's nothing,' she dismissed. 'Are you okay…that bastard cut you!' The blade had indeed broken his skin; although the cut was so shallow there was barely any blood. She ran her thumb down his neck, about an inch from the injury.

'I've know worse,' he grimaced. 'Do you think it was the same guy who attacked you last night?'

'Undoubtedly,' said Sydney bitterly.

'What about earlier today, near the marker? Was that him, too?'

Sydney shook her head. 'No. That was a woman. I got the impression she was just watching us, but didn't mean us any harm… what is it?'

Sydney stopped short as an expression of obvious revelation flashed across Nigel's face.

'I've got it!' he cried. 'I've remembered where I saw those robes and symbols before. It was just after I was bitten by the pony on Scout camp.'

'What happened?'

'After 'it' happened, a woman came running over and shooed the pony away. She was very kind to me, and she shouted at Preston and the others for not helping. But I was so upset and angry, and trying so hard not to cry in front of the others, I'm not sure I ever thanked her.'

'She was wearing the same robe?'

'Yes, I think she was. It was long and white - I remember that - and it had funny colourful markings. She seemed to conjure up an ointment out of nowhere, which she put on my arm to sooth it, and then…'

'Then?'

'Then she started to do some rather strange things. She drew a symbol on my forehead with her finger, and said that when I grow up I would be… well, I don't really remember what she said. I couldn't stop thinking about the pony, and I was _so_ furious with my brother. Besides, Preston said she was a Druid. When she asked if our patrol would like to come back to her cottage for jam sandwiches, he wouldn't let us go. He said she'd marked me for a human sacrifice, and that she would come after me, and then chop me into little pieces… ' Nigel rolled his eyes. 'In this day and age!'

Sydney was intrigued. 'Do you think she _was_ a Druid?'

'I wouldn't have been surprised if she wasn't involved in some sort of new age religion. I doubt she bore much resemblance to the pre-Roman Druids. Of course, I _knew_ that all these robe-wearing mystic societies were little more than 19th-century inventions, despite all the rumours that they built Stonehenge… '

'Of course,' said Sydney, with affectionate sarcasm. 'Every 11-year-old has a thorough knowledge of all the conflicting archaeological theories about Stonehenge's origins.'

'Didn't you?' Nigel was genuinely surprised.

'I was a relatively late developer in that field, Nigel, although I guess I could have told you a few surprising facts about the Incas. I take it you never saw her again?'

'No. And it didn't even take place in this part of the forest. It was way over the other side, towards Coombe Castle.'

Sydney knitted her brow, trying to piece together everything she had learnt: 'Your rescuer, the woman in the woods earlier, the robes and the symbols sort of make sense together. It's the guys with knives that don't fit in…and they've got away with the research. Damn!'

'It shouldn't make too much difference for now. If we've read the source right, the barrow is around here somewhere, and we've still got the key… sort of.'

'I guess so,' said Sydney uncertainly. 'But where _is_ the barrow?'

………………………………….

**Five hours later.**

Nigel sat down heavily on a fallen log, and stared at daggers at Stewie. The pony was, as always, chewing contentedly on the foliage. It gazed nonchalantly back.

'Heart of darkness,' muttered Nigel bitterly, and then returned his attention to his present sufferings.

'Syd… I think we can safely say that there's no barrow here! We've as good as excavated this whole area with our bare hands, and it will be dark soon. Hadn't we better get back?'

Sydney emerged from where she had been painstakingly scraping through yet another patch of undergrowth.

'You're right,' she conceded. 'There's absolutely no sign of anything, let alone Neolithic earthworks. There must be something else in the research.'

'But how are we going to get it back?'

'I don't know,' breathed Syd. 'But I suggest we head back to the pub and find out if anybody knows about any local societies or cults that dress up in white robes. Something must know something… '

'We should speak to Giles. He ought to know.'

'Great idea…what are you sniggering at?'

'Sorry.' Nigel smothered a giggle in the back of his hand. 'It's just... you're covered in mud, and there's a big smudge right on the end of your nose.'

'You're looking pretty filthy yourself, Nigel Bailey!'

'I bet I am!' Nigel jumped up and wiped the splat from Sydney's nose with a clean hanky. 'That's better.'

'Thanks,' she grinned. 'You can keep your dirt for now.' Sydney had never made any secret of the fact that she liked men with a bit of dirt under their fingernails. 'We better head back anyway,' she suggested, glancing up at the ominous grey sky. 'It looks like it's starting to get dark.'

Nigel looked up too, and as he did so a large droplet of water escaped from a cloud, and wove its way down through an obstacle course of twigs and branches and landed on his forehead, only narrowly missing his eye.

He wiped the offending wetness away. 'It looks like it's starting to rain!'

……………………………

It indeed was starting to rain, and it really meant it.

By the time Sydney and Nigel finally spotted the distant lights of the _Flighty Filly Inn_, they were both very wet, cold and thoroughly miserable.

'Why did they have to take _everything_ in the bag?' moaned Nigel for around the hundredth time. 'They could have just taken the research but, oh no, they had to take my waterproofs as well!'

'Just be grateful the GPS was in your pocket,' said Sydney, slightly snappily. 'Otherwise you'd be sitting out all night with Stewie, waiting for him to do his business!'

'I suppose that is a small consolation,' admitted Nigel. He was quiet for moment, and then added: 'You wouldn't really have made me do that, would you?'

'If you complain about anything more, I'll make you do it anyway!'

It was too dark for them to see each other scowl, and they were silent for the remainder of the trek back to the pub.

As they approached the welcoming glow with the building, Sydney glanced over her shoulder to confirm what she suspected: Stewie had followed them, at a casual distance. He'd only just now stopped, in the field next to the building, where he was chewing on a juicy clump of thistles. The sight of the animal softened her mood, just a little: despite everything, she liked that pony!

………………………………

A bell attached to the door noisily announced their arrival in the bar. Sydney's hair hung limp and damp and she wondered if her stylish, brown leather jacket would ever be the same again. Nigel's wool coat was wet through, and his trousers clung uncomfortably to the back of his legs. Water dripped incessantly off his fringe and trickled down his face.

'I must look like a drowned rat,' he muttered. On catching sight of him, however, Tess instantly dumped a tray of empty glasses and ran over. She obviously begged to differ.

'You poor, poor angel! You're wet through! You must be freezing.' Her arm wrapped familiarly around his waist and she guided him over to the open log fire. Nigel, feeling slightly ambushed, gawped at her like a goldfish.

'I'll just run and get you a nice warm towel, and a steaming hot drink. What would you like? Tea, coffee, cocoa? It's all on the house.' She beamed at him rosily, and adjusted her milkmaid's top to its best advantage.

Sydney rolled her eyes. What _was_ with this woman?

'Um, thank you,' stuttered Nigel through chattering teeth. 'Cocoa would be lovely… Sydney, what would you like?'

It's nice _somebody_ remembers I'm here, thought Sydney. She smiled sarcastically at Tess. 'I'll have a Cocoa too, thanks.'

The response was equally icy: 'I'll see what I can do.' Tess squeezed Nigel's arm - causing Sydney's bile to rise further - and dashed off.

'I don't suppose _my_ cocoa will be on the house,' drawled Sydney. 'Can you believe that woman?'

'Oh… maybe I looked a bit wetter,' suggested Nigel helpfully.

'You can't be any colder than me!' retorted Sydney, rubbing her hands together and holding them in front of the fire. 'My fingers are stiff…I swear they're turning blue.' She wiggled them jerkily to illustrate the point.

Nigel caught her hands between his, which had been defrosting for full extra thirty seconds in front of the fire, and rubbed them. Nigel didn't have large hands – for a guy's, they were positively small - but with hers feeling so sore and fragile, his touch felt strong and comforting.

'Better?' he asked.

'Yeah,' she smiled. 'Thanks…' Her voice trailed off as she was momentarily transfixed by the reflection of dancing flames in Nigel's eyes. 'You look good by firelight,' she told him. Her words were light and jokey.

She couldn't tell if it was a blush or the ferocity of the heat that suddenly brought colour to Nigel's face. 'So do you…' he said quietly.

His gravity ignited a frisson on tension. Compulsively breaking the 'moment', Sydney slowly pulled her hands from his and shook her dripping hair. 'I think I'll go upstairs and run a bath. Will you bring my cocoa up?'

'Of course,' said Nigel. 'If you promise to save some hot water for me!'

'It's a deal,' laughed Sydney. She added in an undertone: 'and if you're not up in ten minutes, I'll come down and rescue you from the clutches of Lady Subtlety, here…'

Nigel feigned confusion. 'Oh, come on! She's not so much as sending you signs as hitting you with a sledgehammer!'

'She's a pretty girl…but, um…you know…'

'Not quite your type?' Nigel shook his head, glad of the escape.

Sydney giggled again and departed rapidly, her joy at the prospect of a hot bath intermingled with a curious thought: Nigel _had_ become rather fussy about women of late.

…………………………………………….

Tess drifted in from the kitchens, just as Sydney flowed from the bar. She carried a tray with two steaming cups of cocoa. A fluffy, white towel was rested over her arm.

'They're you go, love.' She placed the tray down on a low table and held out the towel. 'We can't have you catching cold ahead of the Bunny Chase.' She winked mischievously. 'Do you want me to rub you down?'

Nigel couldn't quite believe her forward nature, but still managed to be polite.

'It's a kind offer, but I need to take this cocoa up to Sydney. She was very cold and I'm a bit worried about her.'

Nigel wondered how this would be received, but Tess's temperament blazed sunnier than ever. 'Of course,' she gurgled. 'Poor lamb! She must be freezing. You make sure you both come back down once you've warmed up, though. I'll do you a nice hot toddy. That'll warm your cockles…' The flow of banalities stopped short as Tess's curiosity sparked. 'Oh, you're hurt!'

She lifted her fingers to the small cut on Nigel's neck. Instinctively, he flinched and stepped back. 'It's nothing,' he dismissed congenially. He wondered if Tess had even noticed the scratch on Sydney's face. 'We were attacked.'

'Attacked? By who?'

Nigel wanted to answer 'by a holly bush,' but Tess's beguiling intensity demanded more. Waiting for his answer, she took the opportunity to wrap the towel around Nigel's shoulders. He felt her fingers tease the wet hair hanging down the back of his neck.

'It was by two men in white robes, with distinctive green and red markings. They stole our research. We are going to ask around, and find out if anybody knows who they were.' He paused, finding Tess's sudden silence unsettling. Now she was behind him, he could no longer see her face, or her reaction. 'Have you any idea who they were?'

'They were probably just local thugs,' she answered pensively. 'Did you call the police?'

'Not yet…' Uninvited, Tess was now massaging his shoulders through the towel.

'Well maybe you shouldn't just yet. I can tell you for a fact that those robes were stolen. The people who dress like that would never have attacked you, but the police might jump to wrong conclusions.'

'That sort of makes sense,' said Nigel. 'Sydney saw a woman dressed like that in the woods earlier, she didn't attack us and I was a little… distracted. We would appreciate it if you could ask around, though.'

Tess nestled her chin into his shoulder and whispered in his ear: 'You just leave it with me, angel.'

Nigel barely contained a squeak as she patted his backside. 'See you later, love!' He turned quickly, undecided whether to be offended or amused, but Tess had moved quickly. All he saw was her ankle disappearing through the door of the kitchen as it swayed shut.

……………………

Nigel fumbled through the door of the bedroom, attempting not to spill any more of the cocoa - there were already several splashes of the sweet liquid drying on the stair carpet. He could feel the dampness in the air from the hot running water, and the windows had steamed up. The bathroom door was a crack open.

'Nige?'

'I've, um… got your cocoa. I'll leave it outside the door.'

'Uh… could you bring it in? I'm soooo warm and comfortable…'

She knew this would make Nigel dither. She smiled through the expected uneasy silence.

'I'm quite respectable,' she added coquettishly. 'No need to be shy.'

Nigel exhaled slowly - he knew this game, too - opened the door and peeped in. Sydney was in the bath, her now clean, damp hair piled high on her head. The bubble bath had risen in mountainous enough proportions to just about conceal her modesty. All the same, there was enough smooth, beautifully toned flesh on display to make any man excited.

He decided to make a dash for it. Keeping his eyes subtly fixed on her reflection in the bathroom mirror, he scuttled in and dumped the cocoa on the carpet by the bath. His swift escape was scuppered when Sydney reached up and grabbed the still soggy fabric of his trouser pocket.

'I can't reach it there.' He detected an ever so slight flutter of her eyelashes. 'Will you hand it to me properly?'

Silently, Nigel obeyed. He wondered if she detected the hint of exasperation in his demeanour. She thanked him, taking the cocoa in one hand, but didn't relinquish her hold on his trousers. Instead, she gained a better grip and rubbed the damp fabric between her fingers.

'You should get out of these wet clothes, Nigel.' Finally letting go, she pointed to the radiator. 'Look. I hung your towel over there to get warm. It's a really nice, big one… why don't you undress and wrap yourself in that, while I finish off here?'

'Fine. Good idea.'

Nigel, who had discarded the towel Tess gave him downstairs, grabbed it and was heading for the door when Sydney added: 'You should wait in here… it's a lot warmer than in the bedroom.'

Nigel stopped in his tracks.

'You can scrub my back, if you like?'

There was a loaded silence.

'Of course, if you'd rather not…'

'Sydney!' exploded Nigel, unable to contain his mounting desperation. 'What on earth are you asking? I mean…I mean…you're naked! Those bubbles aren't going to last forever, you know? And now you want _me_ to get naked and scrub your back?'

'I'm just trying to make sure you don't get too cold!'

'No you're not! You're flirting with me…you're…you're worse than that barmaid!'

'I AM NOT! _She_ practically threw herself at you…'

'At least she kept her clothes on…' Nigel raised a hand to shield his eyes as Sydney shifted in the bath and the bubble level dropped. The reference to the barmaid had stirred Sydney's temper.

'Are you suggesting that I'm throwing myself at you?' She couldn't help snapping.

'No…I'm not….ooooh! I'm very sorry.' Nigel stomped from the room and slammed the door behind him.

………………………………

'Whoops!' thought Sydney, cringing at the sudden noise. 'I didn't mean that to happen…'

She rose from the bath, fixed the towel around herself and, trying not to drip too much, went out into the bedroom. Nigel was sitting on the edge of his bed, still fully clothed. The warm towel was dropped on the floor, and his cocoa was untouched.

He glanced up when she entered, but his eyes darted down quickly again when he spoke. 'Sorry. I suppose walking out like that was a bit rude of me.'

'No,' said Sydney firmly. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong…' The words stopped dead as Sydney absorbed their meaning and Nigel looked up abruptly.

'You were _coming on_ to me?'

'Um…yeah. I guess I was…' She sat down on the bed next to him. 'I suppose I got sort of jealous when that barmaid wouldn't stop pawing you. It kind of felt like…'

Sydney trailed off. She was going to say 'it felt like she was touching something which was mine,' but realized how dangerously that made that made Nigel sound like her property. Was that how she really felt? She concluded, instead: 'I just didn't like it.'

'You were jealous?' Nigel was still registering the first part of her admission. His lips flickered into a tiny smile. 'Since when, Syd?'

'I don't know!' Sydney wasn't laughing. The magnitude of the situation had just hit her. She was madly jealous about another woman touching her TA! 'Since…yesterday, I guess. But…lately, when Karen looked at you, in that way she does, I sort of rankled…'

Nigel was no longer smiling, but was staring at her slightly agog.

'Syd… this is quite, well, drastic, isn't it? I mean, does this change our relationship in any way?'

Sydney pulled an awkward expression.

'And should I start wearing a sack on my head to stop women's advances? It would be as much for their safety, as mine. You can get quite difficult when you're angry…'

'Stop making fun of me!' She slapped him on his shoulder. Her palm thwacked against freezing wet fabric and she realised that, despite the flying hormones, it really was much cooler in the bedroom than the bathroom.

'You're still freezing!' She grabbed the towel and began rubbing his shoulder vigorously. 'Come on, let's get you out of those wet things.'

Nigel started unbuttoning his own shirt before she could intervene. 'Hadn't we better finish this conversation, first?'

Sydney quietly conceded to herself she didn't know quite _how_ to finish it. 'What's more to say? I get jealous when other people touch you.'

'You didn't answer my question about how this… changes things.' He had finished unfastening his shirt to his waist, but he didn't take it off. Instead, he removed two soggy socks as Sydney dithered over him.

'You had better go take your bath…I'm not stalling. I just don't want you to get ill.' She pinched the fabric of his shirt. 'Now take this off! I'm going to run some fresh water…'

She wandered back into the bathroom. Nigel gazed quizzically after her until he knew he was out of her eye line. Then he stripped off quickly and tied the towel around his waist.

He stalked over and silently leaned against the bathroom doorframe. Sydney was kneeling beside the bath, checking the temperature of the running water, and didn't see him at first.

'Of course,' he said suddenly, 'I'm not like one of those girls on the Bunny Chase. You can't just catch me and assume I'm yours…'

Sydney pouted up at him: 'Maybe it's _me_ who wants chasing and catching…' Her coyness evaporated, and she swirled her hand around the bath water. 'It's ready. You can get in, if you like…'

Regardless of his previous flirtatiousness, Nigel looked slightly panicked.

'Don't worry, I'll go! Unless you want me to bring in your cocoa and scrub your back?'

Nigel looked contemplative. For a moment, Sydney actually thought he was going to say yes.

Her hopes were shattered when he said: 'I'll just go grab the cocoa myself.'

'Fine,' she smiled as he momentarily disappeared. She stirred the bath one more time to make sure it was the perfect warmth, and left it. As she brushed past him in the doorway, she whispered: 'don't say I didn't offer…'

'Maybe next time,' murmured Nigel.

As the door closed between them, a fireball of excitement exploded in the pit of Sydney's stomach. Her happiness would have been even greater had she known that Nigel was simultaneously leaning back against the other side of the door. His eyes shut as he absorbed the moment, excitement, anticipation and anxiety coursed through his every sinew.

'I've still got it!' he muttered to himself. 'But now, what _else_ have I got…?'

……………………………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	4. Skulduggery

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Sorry this chapter was so long coming. I've been ridiculously busy, which is a pain, because I am particularly adverse to stress and work…**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

CHAPTER FOUR: SKULDUGGERY

After a few moments Sydney heard Nigel splash into the bath. She smiled to herself mischievously as she pictured him naked amongst the bubbles, but then turned her attention back to other pressing matters.

She dressed quickly and then returned to the door. 'Okay there?" she inquired.

'Mmmmmm.' The reply was contented and slightly sleepy.

'Great. I'm off downstairs. I need to call Giles and then I'll see if I can find out anything about who might have stole our research.'

'Oh…yes,' said Nigel, his mind flashing back from very happy pastures to the relic hunt in hand. 'Tess had some ideas about local thugs being involved. She said she'd have a think…'

'So she does have some use then!' retorted Sydney. 'Although why would local thugs be after historical research? I better go speak to her.'

'Try not to have a cat fight over me!'

'Watch it, Nige!' Sydney's words dripped with a feigned threat. 'Or I'll kick your ass so hard you won't want anybody touching you for a week…'

'Now there's a promise!'

Sydney rolled her eyes. What demon had she awakened? She strolled from the room, casually wondering if they ought to push the single beds together…

………………………..

Sydney made the call as she was climbing down the stairs.

'Giles? Hey, it's Sydney. We've got some bad news. The research has been stolen! Yeah… unbelievable, huh? Have you any idea who it might have been?'

The reply from the other end of the line came quickly: 'No.'

'No idea at all? We think it's somebody who knows about the project. The same person broke into my room last night and tried to attack me. They were wearing white robes…'

There was a moment of silence. 'I really haven't a clue,' said Giles.

Sydney was perplexed. 'Can you come over here? Maybe you'll think of something, and your memory of your own research must be better than ours…'

'I'm sorry,' garbled Giles. 'I am incredibly busy and there's no way I can get away from the museum until at least the day after tomorrow. Possibly next week. Goodbye.'

The line went dead. 'What's his problem?' muttered Sydney. She was racking her brain for a possible explanation, when her attention was caught by a older woman, probably in her late fifties, with shoulder-length, silver grey hair pinned up with butterfly clips, who was just the passing out of the swing doors from the bar. Below a long, blue raincoat, the lady was wearing flimsy, strappy sandals, which instantly reminded Sydney of the robed figure who had been watching them in the woods.

Sydney scrutinised the woman's footwear: they just didn't quite look the same as those worn by the person she chased earlier. Moreover, there was no mud on the shoes, and the ankles seemed slightly thicker, less petite. 'No,' thought Sydney, as she watched the women depart the premises with narrowed eyes. 'That wasn't her. But two people wearing sandals in March, in the English countryside seems kind of strange…'

It was then she noticed that Tess was now hovering in the doorway to the bar, watching her intently.

On catching Sydney's eye, Tess beamed at her with what appeared to be genuine benevolence. 'I heard you were attacked earlier. I wondered if I could help?'

'I don't know,' said Sydney warily. 'Nigel said you might have an idea who was involved?'

'Is Nigel all right?' asked Tess, pulling an expression of doe-eyed concern. 'I was worried about him…'

'He's just peachy,' smiled Sydney through gritted teeth. 'Any ideas about our attackers?'

Tess tossed her flowing, chestnut hair and pulled up the shoulders of her perennially plunging blouse. 'Do you remember that bald guy at the bar yesterday? The so-called 'mayor' of Little Hintock? Well, he's a _real_ thug! He's a property developer and about five years ago he bought swathes of land in the Great Forest - the whole area to the south of the village. He claimed he wanted to preserve it like the rest of the forest, but he then it turned out he wanted to build a theme park! The local council refused him permission to build…but after some toadying and conniving, now he _is_ the local council!'

'He's going to build his theme park?'

Tess shrugged. 'I don't know for certain - all I've heard is local gossip. But I _do_ know that man only cares about money, and if he got wind that you were seeking something valuable…' She nodded and winked, leaving Sydney in no doubt what she was implying.

'That's interesting information,' said Sydney, not letting her guard down for a minute. 'Do you know where he lives?'

'Great Hintock Hall, on the outskirts of the village. But I saw him just a few minutes ago going into the Dog and Fox with that museum chap from Wintoncaster. You know? The man you were talking to yesterday…'

'Yeah, I know. Giles Appleforth!' Sydney's blood boiled. If this hussy was telling the truth, that worm had lied to her! And what was he doing with the mayor? 'Where's the Dog and Fox?' she demanded.

'Just down the lane,' replied Tess helpfully.

'I'm going there now. If my assistant comes down, would you tell him where I've gone?'

'With pleasure!' Tess licked her full, strawberry-glossed lips at the prospect.

Sydney just about contained her desire to give her a good, hard kick to the head. 'Just a little bit of friendly advice…' she hissed. 'Nigel and I… we have a…a 'thing.''

'A '_thing'_?' Tess maintained her fixed grin. 'How interesting. I hope that doesn't mean he won't be joining in the Bunny Chase? I thought, as a historian, he'd find it fascinating. '

Sydney smiled sarcastically: 'As a _historian,_ I'm sure he would.'

Something dangerous sparked in Tess's baby-blue eyes. When she spoke, the teasing tones of the flirtatious barmaid had evaporated, substituted by a deep, serious husk: 'History isn't dead, Sydney Fox. You, of all people, should know that. We mustn't forget the ways of our forebears. The spring ritual has celebrated the continuance of life for thousands of years, and affirmed female power…'

'Female power?' interrupted Sydney, mental alarm bells ringing at this unexpected change. 'What has being chased by a guy got to do with _that_?'

'Things aren't always what they seem,' snarled Tess. 'Surely you know, as well as anybody, the natural power that women have over men…' She broke off suddenly, as if checking herself. Her red lips curled into sarcastic smile, signifying the return of the apparently vacuous barmaid. 'Hadn't you better go find Giles?'

'Yeah,' muttered Sydney. 'I'll be back in a flash.' Her feet did not move, and she found herself reluctant to leave Nigel alone under the same roof as this increasingly enigmatic vixen.

As if reading her mind, Tess affirmed: 'You and Nigel have a 'thing,' then. I'll remember…'

'You do that!' Sydney bolstered her words with a glare of contempt, and finally fled the room.

……………………………………..

It was barely ten minutes later when Nigel appeared down in the bar, looking particularly squeaky clean. His hair was newly dried and fluffy and he was wearing a very cuddly looking woolly, blue jumper with a single white stripe.

'How could any girl resist?' mused Tess as she spied him. 'I don't blame that Fox woman for being so possessive. But if he's 'the one,' then she is going to have to share!'

Nigel crowned his irresistible appeal by appearing slightly lost, his eyes flitting around the quiet bar area in search of Sydney.

'She popped out to meet a guy,' purred Tess as she sauntered over. 'She said she'd be some time…'

In response to Tess's unstoppable advance, Nigel backed timidly towards the leather chair in front of the fire. Once cornered, he had little option but to sink backwards into it.

'What would you like to drink? How about that hot toddy I promised you?'

'Uh… yes, that would be lovely.' Nigel stared straight through her, his mind resting despondently on other issues. The prospect of Sydney 'popping out to meet a guy' bothered him. What if one of Sydney ex's had just drifted into town? Maybe Reiner had been let out of the local jail! A hint of jealousy bubbled up in the pit of his stomach. Surely she wouldn't stir them _both_ up into such a lather of desire, and then just disappear? Or would she?

Before his brooding could descend any deeper, Tess was back, holding a steaming mug of something.

'Hello again, angel…oh!' She spied an interesting bulge in her prey's trousers. 'What on earth is that in your pocket?'

'Uh…it's a hikers GPS system.' Nigel had transferred the tracking device to his clean, dry trousers. He predicted, albeit unenthusiastically, that Sydney would insist they went out again to check on the pony and its doings before bed.

'A hikers GPS system?' She pouted lasciviously. 'I thought you were just pleased to see me!' Nigel groaned internally, and brought out the device to show her, desperately hoping it might provoke conversation on a higher plane of intellectualism.

'What on earth do you need that for in here?' asked Tess, batting her thick, black lashes. 'It is for when you get so drunk you can't find your way to the bar? If it is, don't worry. I can bring you everything you need right here. I'll even help you get to bed… '

Nigel feigned a politely embarassed, but uninterested laugh. 'Uh, no. Sydney and I are using it to keep tabs on a pony. It, um, ate something we need.'

'What did it eat?'

Tess's urgent inquiry urged Nigel towards caution: 'Um…my door-key. For my flat. I've only got the one key, and locksmiths are pricey in the States, you know?' He cringed at how silly this sounded, but it was no less silly than the truth.

'Your door key, eh? And now you're going to have to do wait until it comes out the other end! Poor, angel! What with being attacked, you really have had a bad day.' Remembering the steaming, hot mug in her hand, she finally passed it to him but not without leaning down so that her face was suspended inches from his, her scarlet lips pursed. 'This should make you feel as good as new!'

Nigel received the drink graciously. 'Thank you. You really are very kind…' It was quite evident that Tess wanted a kiss, rather than a verbal thank you. Nevertheless, he didn't quite have the heart to encourage her. It was one thing making Sydney jealous inadvertently, but it was quite another to go out of one's way…

Nigel took a sip of the pleasantly warm and surprisingly thick concoction. Even after he swallowed the first sensuously chocolatey mouthful, something sweet and syrupy lingered, on the back of his tongue imparting a fizzy, tingling sensation. A strong infusion of alcohol gave it a medicinal quality, and a pleasingly hedonistic kick.

As Nigel took his second gulp, Tess's hand shimmered onto his shoulder and began to massage it, causing Nigel to catch a glance of a curiously engraved emerald ring, of some antiquity, worn on her middle finger. It ignited his curiosity, but he found himself uncharacteristically unwilling to inquire about it.

'Do you like it?' asked Tess. Nigel assumed she meant the drink.

'It's wonderful.' His reply was monotonic. He really just wanted her to leave him alone so he could enjoy it in peace.

As if reading his thoughts, she withdrew her uninvited touch. 'In case you're wondering, the magic ingredient is the honey, my sweetheart. Now, I've got work to do. Just you call if you need me.'

Relieved, Nigel responded by politely tipping the glass in her direction.

'Cheers!'

'Bottoms up,' she winked, and shimmied away to serve a young couple at the bar.

……………………………….

By the time Sydney returned, Nigel had drained the entire mug. Spotting him, she sprinted over.

'Nigel… there you are! Giles lied to me. He said was he was out of town and now three people have told me they've seen him around the village in the last few hours. I haven't worked out why, but I think he might be plotting with the mayor to sabotage the hunt!'

Nigel peered up at her blearily: 'Mmmmm? That's nice…'

Sydney perused her assistant. The evidence of his glazed eyes and flushed cheeks pointed strongly in one direction:

'Nigel! You're drunk!' The withering glow in her liquid, brown eyes was tinged with disappointment and yearning. Not only had they got work to do in getting back the relic, she'd been looking forward to working out the other, equally interesting 'issues' that had been raised by the evenings progress. 'Its barely 6 p.m! How much have you had?'

'Jush the one… then everything…shtarted shpinning.' His eyes began to loll shut. Syd extracted the empty mug from its loose grip in his hand just before it dropped the floor.

Forcing his eyes open again, Nigel grimaced apologetically and looked up at her imploringly. Beneath the haze, Sydney detected a genuine perplexity.

Alarm bells rang. She sniffed the glass. 'What did you have?'

This time, Nigel didn't reply. He just stared past her vacantly, a peevish, lopsided grin on his face.

'Come on, Nigel. Tell me what happened!' She slapped him lightly on the cheek and cupped his chin in her hand, trying to force him to look at her.

Nigel giggled, and tried swatting her hand away but missed entirely. 'Tickles…' he muttered, and then his head drooped forward and he passed out entirely.

Sydney was shocked. If this was the effect of _one_ drink, it had clearly been spiked. The obvious suspect was barmaid, Tess, but Sydney had her doubts: what good would Nigel be to her in this condition? Nevertheless, she was about to go and pound any information out of her rival, who was currently nowhere to be seen, when she caught sight of somebody waving at her frantically from outside a window.

Giles, appealing desperately for her attention, confirmed that he had caught her eye and then ducked down and disappeared.

'Damn!' Sydney had no desire to leave Nigel alone, and undefended, in this condition. Spying a respectable looking young couple enjoying a bottle of white wine she barked: 'hi… my friend here's a little worse for wear. Can you make sure he doesn't leave without me?' Nigel didn't look like he was leaving any time soon, so the couple nodded, bewildered. 'Cheers. Back in one sec…' Sydney charged from the room.

Running around the side of the pub, there was no sign of Giles at first. As she was on the verge of tearing her hair out in exasperation, his bear-like blond head popped up from behind a beer barrel.

'Psssst. I'm here!' He had barely finished articulating the words when Sydney grabbed him by the collar and crashed him back against the wall.

'Why did you lie to me?'

'I'm sorry! You mustn't look for Odo's staff any more. It's just too dangerous!'

'Why is it too dangerous? Who's after us… what's that?'

Sydney's attention was diverted by a familiar carved ivory handle poking out of Giles's waistband. She yanked it out and pulled the knife from its scabbard.

'It was you! You could have killed Nigel earlier…'

Sydney was so angry she bore her teeth, and Giles was severely concerned that it was now his throat that was about to be cut.

'No! Please, it wasn't me. It was Henchard – the mayor. He broke into your room, and then he made _me_ help him try and get the research back…'

'So it was you with him in the woods?' Sydney brandished the knife menacingly. 'Why did you help him?'

'Because the Forest Sisterhood are after it. And if they find it, the consequences could be disastrous! They turn grown men into gibbering wrecks… '

'The Forest sisterhood? I think I might have met one of them. And she seemed a lot more peaceful than you and that moron of a mayor! Did you steal their robes?'

Giles nodded timidly. 'Please! Professor Fox, put the knife down and I'll explain. My nerves are shredded as it is!'

'Your friend Henchard didn't seem to care about my assistant's nerves when he had the blade pressed against his throat!'

Sydney's desire to pound more information from the snivelling worm was tempered by the thought of Nigel and the condition she had left him in. Her decision as to what to do next, however, was pre-empted by a loud ringing noise.

'What's that?'

'It must be the pub fire alarm,' blustered Giles.

'Fire Alarm…Nigel!'

Sydney barged off back towards to pub door, dragging the reluctant Giles by his green wax coat.

……………………………………..

Although the pub had been far from full, at least a dozen customers and staff were bustling out as Sydney, jettisoning the deadweight Giles, pushed her way in. They greeted her with warnings and mutters - she was given a particularly funny look by the young couple, still clutching their glasses of white wine - but posed no real obstacle. As she headed for the dark, wood swing-doors that opened into the bar, however, the landlord blocked her way.

'Miss! You can't go in there!'

'You're wrong about that!' Sydney shoved him hard out of the way, and burst in. Nigel was no longer passed out in the high backed leather chair. He was gone.

'Miss!' The call from behind her was now an angry one. 'You must come out! It's only a small pan fire - one of the silly barmaids started it - but you're breaching all my health and safety regulations!'

Sydney turned on him, her patience foundering: 'My friend, Nigel. He was passed out in this chair, and he couldn't have moved on his own. WHERE IS HE?'

Sydney stalked towards the man as she spoke, leaving no doubt about her serious intentions.

'I don't know Miss,' he replied, now unsettled. 'But I expect somebody helped him out. The room was only cleared a minute ago, he can't be far away.'

Sydney's heightened senses discerned the slam of a vehicle door around the back of the pub.

'Damn! So, that's their game!'

'Miss…no! The fire's that way! '

A thin spiral of smoke was emerging from the kitchen door, which represented the quickest way around the back of the pub. Lifting her sleeve to cover her mouth and nose, she charged through the choking smog. Spying an emergency exit hanging open, she headed straight to it and burst out, coughing, into the yard on the other side.

She was just in time to see a small, white van screech off the premises.

'Nigel! No!!!'

Sydney cursed as her instincts told her what she didn't want to hear: Nigel was inside. Whoever _they_ were, they'd got him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	5. Dungeons and Ponies

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for the reviews. Yup, I was looking forward to working out those 'equally interested issues' too, but it seems that I'm going to have to reunite Syd and Nige first. Sorry! I always have way too much silly plot…**

………………………………………………..

CHAPTER FIVE: DUNGEONS AND PONIES

'Nigel! No!!!'

Sydney sprinted around the front of the pub, frantically pursuing the lights of the van. Regardless of her cries, the vehicle soared off up the high-hedged lane and disappeared around the corner.

The pub customers and staff were huddled in a little group outside the front door, and observed the irate American woman with alarm.

Syd's demand was breathless: 'Does anybody know who owns that van?'

She was greeted with blank expressions. The landlord, who was starting to think she was mad, said he didn't believe it belonged to a regular punter.

'Yeah? How about that barmaid of yours, Tess? She doesn't seem to be anywhere around here. It wasn't her, by any chance, who started the fire, was it?'

'Well… actually, yes it was!' admitted the landlord. He scanned the perturbed faces of the little group around him. 'Tess? Has anybody seen Tess? Where is she, the little vixen?'

'I've got pretty good idea that _she_ was in that van,' growled Sydney. 'She spiked my assistants drink and staged the whole fire in order to kidnap him.'

'Kidnap! That's quite an accusation!' The siren of the approaching fire engine could now be heard. 'If you're serious, we'd better tell the police…'

'Pssst! No!'

A meaty hand tentatively gripped Sydney's arm. She ripped herself away, and twisted to face Giles.

'You mustn't call the police,' he entreated, his voice tremulous. 'Please, Professor Fox! I have to speak to you.' His wide eyes conveyed a desperate sincerity.

'Don't call anybody yet,' growled Syd to the landlord. She followed Giles as he shuffled off to hide behind the bins.

'Okay, Giles,' said Sydney, not concealing her violent emotion. 'You're going to tell me what's going on.'

'They've got your friend. And they've got Henchard.'

'_They've _got Nigel? Who?'

Giles, goggling like a frightened panda, handed her his mobile phone.

Sydney, suspecting the worst, lifted it to her ear. 'Hello?'

'Professor Fox?' The female voice on the other end betrayed West Country origins with its soft lilting accent. Its high, smooth pitch wasn't Tess's, but clearly belonged to a woman of similar youth.

'Yeah. Who is this?'

'That doesn't matter. You know your mission. You must uncover the staff in its resting place for us at dawn on the first day of spring. As a token of good faith, and to preserve the good health of your friend, you must bring us the key by first light tomorrow. You will leave it under the old gallows at Hangman's Hill. You will not call the police, or it will be very bad for Nigel indeed.'

'Now, you listen to me…'

Before Sydney could even articulate her own threats, the line went dead.

'Damn!'

'What did they say?' inquired Giles, all aquiver.

Sydney shot him a look of anger that bordered on the feral. 'They said we need to give them the key.'

'You still have it?'

Sydney stared at Giles as the whole awful truth dawned upon her: as far as she knew, the key was still 'in' Stewie. Moreover, the GPS tracker, which told her where the pony was currently mooching around, was in _Nigel's_ pocket…

She could contain her frustration no longer. 'We'll worry about that in the minute,' she hissed, and grabbed him by the collar: 'Now you're going to tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING!!!'

'I don't know much,' gibbered Giles, terrified. 'All I know is that, in mediaeval times, Odo had the power to drive men mad and…' he glanced around, as if concerned somebody might hear his admission. 'Not only did he dispossess men of their minds, but their lives as well! On the finest specimens of manhood, he performed…human sacrifice!'

'And you think that the Forest Sisterhood are intent on doing the same?'

'I thought it was all nonsense, but the mayor says that several local men have vanished during the Bunny Chase… or returned, utterly transformed. The Forest Sisterhood have revived Odo's cult, and are intent on finding the staff to maximise their powers!'

…………………………………………………………………………

Somewhere in the hinterland between natural sleep and fever, Nigel's mind swirled with tormented images of scarlet daemons and sharp tooth ponies, galloping as one; pursuing him relentlessly through a char-black forest. Their screams hounded him onwards, lashing his ears with an ancient, twisted tongue, rendered all the more torturous by a burning consciousness that this wasn't what he'd had planned for that evening. It was as if he had been on a ship bound for the shores of heaven, but had been rudely cast off into the tumultuous pits of hell. Tonight should have been warm, safe and sensual… how did he get here?

As the screams swelled to almost unbearable levels, however, the tortured tones took on unexpected forms. Tingling voices and laughter seeped into his consciousness: murmuring and incoherent, but human nevertheless.

It was then he became aware he was being touched, and being carried. The tight, cold skin of many uninvited hands gripped his arms, shoulders and his ankles, and the coolness of what could only be night air caressed his face. A shiver jolted him closer to lucidity and he vaguely wondered how long it could be before his body joined his brain's ineffectual struggle for liberation.

There was never time. As he finally surfaced in the world of wakefulness, a cold, hard surface rose from nowhere to take his weight and the human shackles were suddenly withdrawn. He perceived the slam of a door, and another eerie ring of laughter.

The next words Nigel heard were not tender ones. The voice was jarringly hostile and male, and the words were barked in a harsh, German accent.

'I don't believe it! It's Sydney's _new_ guy…'

Nigel opened one eye to confirm the man behind the voice he didn't want to hear.

'Reiner?' Nigel registered his presence incoherently, but thought, clearly enough, to himself: 'After four years, why does this obnoxious man still think that I'm _new_?'

Fighting his way into a state of awareness, Nigel reluctantly absorbed his environs. He was lying on the floor of a damp cell, about three metres square. It was very dark and lit only by a small candle lamp, although Nigel instantly identified that the large, chunks of stone that made up the walls had been crudely cut and erected in the mediaeval period. Kurt Reiner, in Nigel's opinion one of Sydney's most unpleasant rivals and exes, was sitting fairly near. Indeed, he feared he was within kicking distance of the nasty man's booted foot. Approaching him from the furthest corner, looking a little dishevelled, was the smart-suited, bald man who he recognised from the bar the day before: Henchard.

'Are you all right, son?' asked the mayor of Little Hintock.

Nigel wasn't sure what to answer. He felt really groggy and had no idea where he was or how he got there. As he tried to sit up, the room swam and nausea churned his stomach.

'Oh God… I think I might throw up.' He slumped back down again on the hard stone and groaned piteously.

'If you are ill in this confined space,' articulated Reiner matter-of-factly. 'I will kill you.'

Nigel, lying on his side and desperately struggling to master the contents of his digestive system, still managed to scowl at his cellmate He'd lost track of the number of times Reiner had threatened his life. It was getting tedious.

He managed to croak: 'Shut up, Reiner! Or I'll tell every Relic Hunter this side of Outer Mongolia about the incident with the stilettos and the one-eyed donkey… '

'Hey! Take it easy, lad… and you, back off!'

The last of Henchard's words were addressed pointedly at Reiner, who had started forward, his fists clenched. Retreating, the rival relic hunter pulled a mocking face like a cheeky, scolded schoolboy.

'I was set up,' he leered.

Henchard rubbed Nigel's back comfortingly and then bellowed at the top of his voice: 'Hey? Can we have some water here? Come on, you harlots. What've you done to him? He's a sick man.'

The initial response was a crescendo of giggles but, after a few moments, a creamy, delicate hand with an emerald ring tossed a bottle of Evian through the barred hatch, which thwacked onto the hard floor.

'That was close,' thought Nigel, as it barely missed him. He never saw the prettily decorated hand.

Henchard scramble for the bottle as it rolled across the floor, then unscrewed the lid and handed it to Nigel.

'Thanks.' He took the water shakily and swallowed a small sip. When that went down okay, he followed it by a large gulp. His tummy protested then and, abruptly grabbing his middle in a hopeful attempt to calm it, he decided that was enough.

'He'd better not be sick,' muttered Reiner, still regarding Nigel like a piece of chewing gum he'd found on the bottom of his boot.

The Mayor of Little Hintock ignored him. 'What happened to you?' He asked Nigel.

Nigel, who _was_ now feeling a little better, scrutinised the older man's craggy features as he racked his memory. Almost completely devoid of hair, the mayor was aged well over fifty, but in fine shape with broad shoulders and staring, black hawk-like eyes. A small, nigh cupids-bow pink mouth, failed to temper his tough guy air, even if his actions seemed relatively gentle.

Nigel was just wondering if he could trust him, when he realised that his mind was wandering. 'I…um, think my drink must have been spiked. I have no other explanation for how I got here… and why I feel so dreadful.' Nigel compulsively lay back down, this time resting a hand behind his head. 'How did you get here?'

Reiner just grunted, but the mayor took a deep breath and began his story.

'We're all here because we tried to interfere, inadvertently or not, with the plans of the Forest Sisterhood.'

Reiner grunted again, but this time Nigel detected a small element of humour – or was it desire? Reiner's image of the sisters was obviously not an entirely negative one.

'The Forest Sisterhood?'

Henchard nodded grimly. 'That's right. And a nasty set of witches they are! Sometime in the early 1970s, when all that New Age rubbish was first becoming fashionable, a group of silly local housewives revived, or rather, reinvented, an ancient religion in order to worship Mother Nature, or some sort of rubbish like that…'

Nigel objected to his derogatory tone. 'Its not rubbish,' he interrupted. 'Many different cultures have worshipped Mother Nature or Mother Earth. In this part of the world, archaeologists theorise that these forms of religious worship could have their roots in the Neolithic age, if not before. Strong evidence suggests Stonehenge, for example, lined up as it is to the rising of the sun is midwinter, was the temple of some such religion, and...'

'Ssssssh!' seethed the mayor, lifting a finger to his lips. '_They_ could be listening. You mustn't encourage them.' He continued in an undertone: 'These new, empowered women of the younger generation have turned their mother's innocent 'flower power' jabberwocky into a man hating cult! In recent years, they have hijacked the annual Bunny Chase. It's just an excuse to get a defenceless young man into the forest, and then…well, nobody knows what happens next, but four local lads have come back gibbering wrecks with no knowledge of what happened to them, and one has disappeared entirely! If the Bunny Chase wasn't so good for the tourists, I would have cancelled the whole event years ago. As it was, I was on the verge of stopping it this year...'

'Is that why they locked you up?'

Henchard groaned. 'No. They knew nothing of that. They ambushed me because I tried to stop your Professor Fox finding the bishops staff!'

'That was you?' Nigel, his faintness deserting him, sat up quickly and shuffled back across the room, dabbing at the healing cut on his neck. 'You could have killed me… and you burst in on Sydney in the bathroom!'

'She looks good in the bathroom,' smirked Reiner. 'Not that _you'd_ know, I'm sure…' This comment was intended for Nigel, who shot back a scornful, and decidedly contradictory, glare.

The mayor continued: 'I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of any other way. That idiot Giles Appleforth was too obsessed with finding the thing in order to further his career, and I thought you'd be the same. Giles only agreed to help me get the research back today after I told him about them driving men mad. He now thinks that those idiot women will use the staff to raise the dead, or perform human sacrifice or something…and, of course, now _they've_ got his research. I had it on me when I was 'taken.''

'Raise the dead? Human sacrifice?' Nigel failed to disguise the hitch of alarm in his voice.

'Indeed!' scoffed Henchard, 'murderous jabberwocky! I just wanted to stop these women before Little Hintock become synonymous with mass murders, mind altering drugs and cult activity, and every last tourist penny dries up! The bishop's staff would just have made the sisterhood more hysterical.'

'And Giles eventually agreed with you?'

'I have no idea. All I know is that when I mentioned madness and human sacrifice, he went as white as a ghost and agreed to help me rob you. We need to get out of here and call the police before there is a PR disaster!'

Nigel said nothing. Having briefly warmed to Henchard, he now found he didn't want to trust him. He couldn't help wondering what else Giles might have known about the staff.

'I wish I'd had a better look at that research,' he thought to himself. This triggered memories of Stewie, the key and the GPS. The GPS! If he still had it on him, Sydney could simply remove the one of Stewie and use it to trace him! His heart sank as he slipped his hand into his pocket. As he had gloomily suspected, it was gone.

His meditations were interrupted by Reiner: 'Aren't you interested as to why I'm here?'

'Not really,' sighed Nigel. 'I'm just assuming the sisterhood thought you were an aberration to nature.'

'You snivelling little runt! I will not allow you to speak to me like that…' Reiner leapt up and grabbed Nigel by the collar, dragging him to his feet. He knew that Henchard would intervene, but he didn't really care. The relic hunter was bored with not being the centre of attention, and was gagging for a scrap.

'Leave him alone!'

Henchard placed a firm hand on Reiner's shoulder. The German released Nigel by sending him flying backwards into the hard, stone wall, then swivelled and punched the mayor on the nose.

'I'll have you arrested!' shouted Henchard.

'Yes?' spat Reiner. 'That might be difficult in the circumstances. Now you two can sit here and whine, but I'm going to stop mucking around and get myself out of here. I know women! Money is the only thing they're really interested in. This staff is worth a fortune, and I'm going to convince them that I can find it for them…'

'And then run off with it yourself!' interrupted Nigel, rubbing the back of his sore head. Don't worry, Reiner, if they haven't already worked it out, I'll let them know that you're not to be trusted!'

'Whose side are you on?' Reiner lunged for Nigel again, but Henchard pulled him back.

'Not on yours, that's for sure!' retorted Nigel.

Henchard was about to add his tuppence worth to the dispute, when an austere female voice fell upon their ears and stilled their tongues.

'Tess! You naughty girl. Why did you put him in there with the others? It's nasty and cold! He is 'the one,' remember?'

'I know,' came Tess's flirtatious tones. 'I suppose I just like to watch him suffer!'

'You must let him out now! He's too precious to be locked away with that nasty rough German and that uncultured mayor!'

There was the clink of keys.

Anticipation flashed across Reiner's face. 'I've got a new plan,' he rasped to Henchard. 'They're just women! They've got no guns… we ambush them now, and fight our way free. Then we find the staff ourselves. I'll cut you in 25 percent...'

Henchard had little time to say 'yay or nay' before the lock clicked. As it swung an inch open, he gave an affirmative nod: 'Fine. But it's not a deal. We talk money later…'

Barmaid Tess tiptoed delicately into the cell. Despite his dislike for the woman who had probably kidnapped him, Nigel looked on in horror as Reiner swung his fist straight at her plumptous lips and delicately sculpted jaw.

Tess, however, looked decidedly unimpressed as she ducked the blow and countered it with a half-hearted karate chop to his neck. She then kneed him between the legs, with the air of somebody who simply couldn't be bothered to think of anything more interesting.

Reiner collapsed to the floor, a moaning heap. The sizeable Henchard looked blankly terrified, and backed into a corner. Nigel was greatly surprised, but not overcome: 'She's not as stylish as Sydney,' he thought to himself.

Tess barged her way into the cell and grabbed Nigel's hand. 'Come on, angel,' she simpered as she dragged him towards the door. 'We've got other plans for you…'

Reiner was twisting his face towards him, scarlet and pained. Nigel avoided kicking or tripping over Sydney's erstwhile lover and rival. Tempting as it was, it was not gentlemanly to knock a chap while he was down.

A few seconds later, however, he wished he hadn't stayed his boot. The words Reiner whispered sent a shiver down his spine, just as they had when Preston uttered them, seventeen years before:

'She's got you marked for sacrifice. She is going to chop you into little pieces…'

Nigel's eyes remained focused on Reiner's leering grimace until the door slammed between them. Desperately trying to dismiss his 'childish' fears, he raised his head, as calmly as he could, to confront his new situation. The scene that had silently formed in front of him, however, did little to abate them.

His cell was located at the end of a long, stone corridor, which was now ablaze with increasingly vibrant light. The heat and glow intensified as more and more figures, each dressed in long white robes that covered their bodies and faces, emerged from beneath the pointed, gothic arches of doors on either side. Each carried a tall, flaming candle. The smell was sickly sweet; like incense, he thought, but underlain with a hint of something much more pungent and sinister.

His horror was amplified as the robed figures began to chant: their words were in an ancient tongue, even Nigel could barely understand. Their voices were low and resonant, like the hum of a thousand wind chimes.

His hand involuntarily tightened around Tess's as she led him forward, for what purpose, he knew not. 'Sydney,' he muttered to himself. 'Where the bloody hell are you?'

………………………………….

'The pony was a sort of…dirty off-white grey colour, with dappled brown markings.'

'How big?' Giles voice conveyed all the enthusiasm of a stroppy teenager who had just been asked to tidy his bedroom.

'Uh, small, no more than five foot high. But quite big for these guys, I guess.' The ponies in the Great Forest were much smaller than even the children's riding ponies that Sydney had learned to gallop upon as a girl in Hawaii. 'It had a collar around its neck, and the GPS is probably still attached. It followed us back, and must be around here somewhere…and you need to check all the piles of…you know.'

'Poo! Yes, I know!'

'If you keep on complaining, Giles, I swear I'll kick you face first into the biggest pile I can find. It's your fault Nigel's in this trouble, you know? Besides, it's just grass…'

They floundered around in the dark for around half an hour. Some of the ponies stirred and started as Sydney shone the light in their long-nosed faces. She felt a little cruel disturbing their slumber, especially if they whinnied in surprise. Even less enjoyable, were the investigations she was compelled to undertake with her boots, each time something dubious squelched beneath her feet.

Just as Sydney was on the verge of giving up on both Stewie, and the key, and resolving to get Nigel back some other way, she heard a shout from Giles: 'I think I've found it!'

She splattered across the boggy ground in his direction. 'The key?'

'No…err, your pony, I think. This one fits your description: it's the right colours, and it's got pointed ears and a little wispy beard.'

'Great!' Sydney instantly recognised Stewie, who had opened his eyes and was now regarding her sleepily but warily. She approached cautiously, and snatched the GPS off him with a sudden movement, that made him back away and snort huffily. Quickly checking the route recorder, Sydney realised the pony had barely moved for several hours.

'If he's deposited the key, it's not far away. We just need to check the area around him. If there is nothing here, then we're going to take him with us, over towards Hangman's Hill.'

'You can't do that!' cried Giles, as horrified as if she'd suggested shooting the Queen. 'It's against the law to tether a Great Forest pony. It's still punishable by death…'

'I don't want to hear it, Giles! Otherwise, I'll be responsible for much worse actions than tying up a pony. Now get searching - and use your hands! I don't want _anything_ missed…'

……………………………………

It seemed to take an eternity for Tess and Nigel to make their progress up the passageway. Nigel still could not see the faces of the hooded, chanting figures. Seeking assurance of their humanity, he subtly glanced at one, keeping his own eyes low. His fears were not allayed: beneath the shadowing hood loomed two piercing blue orbs, set aglow by the reflective candlelight that danced in their jet-black pupils.

Nigel's inquiring gaze darted away quickly. He was immensely relieved when they reached the end of the corridor, and he and Tess ascended into the relative solitude of a spiral staircase. It was then he ventured to speak:

'Ummm… obviously, I appreciate the effort you've gone too, but would you mind telling me what's going on?'

Tess said nothing, and annoyance began to mingle with Nigel's fears: 'Could you at least where I am - I can tell from the stonework that this building is of some antiquity.'

He felt Tess's thumb caress the back of his hand. 'All will be revealed, my angel.'

Nigel's anger finally overcame both his trepidation and his manners. He crossly snatched his hand away.

'Now look here! I'm not your 'angel'…and, I wish you'd stop being so over familiar! I can't believe you spiked my drink. That was cheap, and it could have been dangerous…'

Even as he berated her, Nigel and Tess reached the top of the staircase. The way was barred by an iron-enforced wooden door, some centuries old, but still formidable. It was, however, unlocked. Tess showed no sign of stopping him in any way, so Nigel negotiated the latch and, pushing it with some force, he thrust the door open.

At the sight that greeted him, he stopped dead under the archway.

The spiral staircase had led up to the edge of a ruined castle keep. Even by moonlight, Nigel recognised where he was instantly, stabbed by the happy memory of childhood visits: Coomb Castle. All around him, tottering walls jutted out at distinctive and eclectic angles. Assembled with giant stones, each crumbling, limestone segment was so thick and heavy they would instantly obliterate anyone caught below, should they finally tumble. In some places, the walls had disintegrated nearly to the ground; in others, the once formidable defences soared high into the starry sky.

It wasn't the sight of the castle that snatched Nigel's breath away, or the large, stone monolith that stood in the middle of the roofless keep, decorated with garlands of early spring flowers. Neither was it purely the white robed and hooded figures that encircled him, each holding candles, each chanting softly. Amidst them were gathered murky, looming beings that wrenched into his present, a guttural, long repressed fear.

As Nigel looked straight at the nearest sleeping pony, its eyes flew open. A jet black eye caught the glimmer of the moon, and sparked like burning coals in the pits of hell.

'It isn't real,' muttered Nigel. 'This is silly, this is a nightmare… you're not 11 any more, ponies don't scare you… you're back in the pub, in that warm, cosy bed…'

A cold gust of wind against his face, and the realisation he was shivering, did not confirm his hopes. Neither did the reminder of Tess's presence, which came as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, rubbing his jumper sleeves to generate warmth. Her hand clamped down on his shoulder.

'This is quite real,' she purred. 'As real as all the wonders of Mother Earth. And now, you must join with her.'

Nigel turned unsteadily to face her. 'What do you mean?'

Tess's smile was macabre; her lips blood red and her blonde hair whitely luminous. The words were chilling: 'I knew from the first moment I saw you. You're 'the one' Nigel, and you must be our greatest offering!'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	6. The demon bites

**Disclaimer: as ever.**

**Thanks for the reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter… **

Tess smiled, her lips blood red. 'I knew from the first moment I saw you. You're to be our greatest offering!'

Nigel let out a long, tremulous sigh and raised his eyes to heaven. Yes, he was scared. A tribe of warbling druids wearing embroidered bedsheets surrounded him. They were clearly mad. What's more, they were interspersed with horrid, black-hearted ponies. No doubt the former wanted to cut him into little pieces, leaving the latter to chew on what was left with their blunt little fangs.

Nevertheless, he felt he had been here before many times. He could handle this, he told himself. After all, he was a grown man… and Sydney couldn't be far away, could she? He just needed to stall them!

As the hooded figures slowly closed in, Nigel glanced back at Tess. She was still grinning at him like a Cheshire cat: one that had caught a particularly delectable mouse, and intended to play with it for sometime before she mercifully killed it. Moving his gaze swiftly from her to the group, he raised his hands abruptly as if to say 'halt!'

'Um, this is all very… interesting. In fact, I'm fascinated by mediaeval and prehistoric ritualism. However, would you mind telling me what is meant by 'offering?' To be blunt, I'm unsure I can 'offer' myself in any way that would be congenial to Mother Earth…'

There was no response. Nigel was unsure if the chanting had got louder, or whether it was just that the chanters were now very close. Their words began ringing in his ears, infiltrating every corner of his consciousness: '_Matris Terra perussi quod dat vita…_ _Nos planto nostrum vitualamen ut Matris Terra.'_

It was bad Latin, but he discerned it's meaning well enough: '_Mother Earth consumes and gives life… we make our offering to Mother Earth.'_

The chanting stopped, as what seemed like a thousand limbs exploded from under the concealment of the cloaks. Dozens of hands hungrily seized his arms and wrists. Something warm encircled his waist and fingers tangled in his hair. He was powerless to stop his jumper being peeled off over his head, leaving him feeling exposed in his thin cotton shirt.

Nigel squeaked: 'Please, I'd rather keep that on. It's a cold night…'

'We'll keep you warm!' Nigel could not tell from under which hood the honey-sweet voice came. A scornfully concordant peel of laughter echoed it.

'I'd…I'd…rather have my jumper back anyway…' Nigel bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. A thousand light fingers danced across his torso, fiddling with his buttons, parting and creeping under the fabric onto his flesh. He could no longer protest when he felt the all-pervasive hands glide under his knees and grip his ankles. His feet left the earth and his whole world turned askew.

A shuddering tide bore him forward, and Nigel found himself staring upwards at an increasingly clouded sky. As a faceless phantasm gently brushed his hair from his brow, Nigel descended into a dreamlike state of denial and his mind grew disquietingly blank. The motion was strangely comforting, and it seemed all too soon that the dappled moon spun out of his vision, and the castle and his captors swerved upright again. Nigel found he was leaning back against a large stone: undoubtedly the monolith in the middle of the castle keep that he had spotted before. He snapped back to full consciousness when the fondling human touch was suddenly withdrawn from his wrists and ankles, only to be replaced by something inanimate and rough. Nigel glanced down to confirm the suspicion that he was being tied up with ropes.

'That isn't good,' he muttered to himself.

'Sssshhhh! You must relax…' He couldn't tell from which figure the command came; the hoodless Tess had long since disappeared. An anonymous soul had unfastened his last tenacious, shirt button and was skimming a single finger down his chest, from below his neck to past his navel. The unwanted intimacy caused him to shudder violently.

'Please…' whimpered Nigel. The hand that now stroked his face was young and delicate, with painted purple fingernails: didn't Claudia once wear that shade? His terror intermingled with an irrepressible excitement.

As his shirt was slipped from his shoulders, Nigel resolved on making a last-ditch attempt to act assertively to salvage his dignity, and maybe his life. Leaning his head back against the stone, he shut his eyes and yelled at the top of his voice: 'SYDNEY!!!!'

…………………

'Professor Fox! I'm awfully sorry but I can't find it… it just isn't here!'

Giles had been gingerly dissecting pony droppings in the cold and dark for about an hour. Sydney, who was also quite sick of excavating the excrement, let alone of listening to Giles whinging, finally agreed. 'Okay, it's not here.'

'What we going to do then?'

Sydney silently shook her head and deposited her now ruined black gloves in her bag. It was particularly when she wasn't with Nigel that she appreciated what good company he was - if she had to put up with anybody whining at great length, there was nobody more pleasant than Nigel. _Her_ Nigel, who only a couple of hours ago she was lusting after in a semi-naked state; _her_ Nigel who had just been kidnapped by an enigmatic cult, possibly bent on human sacrifice!

The thought propelled Sydney into action. 'Right. We can't waste any more time. How long do you think it will take us to get to Hangman's Hill?'

'By trekking across the forest from here? A couple of hours, I guess.'

'Fine.' Sydney hooked her satchel over her shoulder in a businesslike manner. 'But we're going to have to bring that pony with us.'

'Bring the pony? That's impossible!'

'Nothing is impossible, Giles…' An image of Claudia receiving a Nobel Prize for astrophysics popped into Syd's head. 'Well, maybe _some_ things are, but tethering this pony certainly isn't. I'm going to use your scarf to tie around its collar. We can lead it with that.'

'My scarf? Hmph.' Giles wasn't a boisterous enough fellow to argue with Sydney Fox. All the same, he grumbled loudly under his breath as he handed it to her.

Sydney snatched it and marched purposefully up to Stewie, who was sleepily standing a few metres away. To get his attention without alarming him, she began making a 'kissy' noise with her lips.

The pony raised his head, but did not bother to look in her direction or appear unduly alarmed. Hoping he had become accustomed to her company, Sydney reached the verge of hooking the scarf around his collar. At that moment, Stewie let out a disgruntled whinny. He swerved his head to face her, and for a terrible moment their eyes locked.

'Jesus,' thought Sydney. She swallowed a pang of what she believed to be irrational fear.

Sydney went in for the kill. So did Stewie. The pony got there first.

'Ow!' Sydney dropped the scarf, and gripped her arm. As the pony bolted off across the field, she turned to Giles, openmouthed with disbelief.

'That lowlife bit me!'

………………..

'SYDNEY!!!! SYDNEY!!!'

Nigel yelled out her name three, maybe four times. He couldn't believe this was happening. The evening had been going so well! How did he get from sharing a bathroom with a practically naked Sydney, to being stripped naked himself by some psychopathic members of a quasi-mediaeval cult? 'SYDNEY!!!!'

His increasingly anguished shouting, however, had some effect. The women had stopped chanting and ripping his clothes off, and he was now surrounded by the indiscernible buzz of whispered conversation. Unable to work out what they were saying, Nigel decided to cry out one more time: 'SYD…mph!'

Nigel's word was cut short as somebody placed a gag over his mouth. His tightly scrunched eyes flew wide open, as it was tied, not too tightly, behind his head. None of the women were touching him any more, but their concealed faces were still pointed in his direction and their voices were raised. He only heard the words he didn't want to hear: 'knife,' 'rope,' 'cut,' 'lets get this over with.'

For the first time, Nigel felt his tummy wrench with genuine fear. His heart was pounding so fast that he could hear the blood churning in his ears. Panic set in, and he began to struggle violently against the ropes that secured him to the monolith. Finding no leverage, the rough material began to tear into his flesh.

'Sssshhhh,' said somebody. 'Keep calm…'

Then he saw the flash of a blade. Squeezing his eyes tight shut again, he held his breath and prayed…

Seconds later, the cut came, but it was not accompanied by the expected searing pain. Instead, the ropes that tied him were severed, and his hands fell free.

'Girls! This isn't a game. The ceremony isn't due for two days, and can't you see the poor creature is terrified?'

The voice was mature, cultivated and matronly. Even amidst his nigh hysteria, it reminded Nigel a little of one of his undergraduate history lecturers. It certainly had the effect of authority. The younger female voices around him started to whine:

'It was her idea!'

'We thought he was enjoying it!'

'Tess told me to…'

As he rubbed his sore wrists and felt his ankles released, Nigel ventured to open his eyes. Doing so, he found himself face to face with a gracious looking woman, of medium build and with thick, shoulder-length grey hair, sections of which were pinned up with butterfly clips. Like the others, she was wearing a white robe, but her hood was down. She was untying his gag with thin, dry and consoling fingers that skimmed gently on the skin at the back of his neck.

'There you are, dear,' she said, finally removing the offending device. 'I'm sorry about that. The girls got a little carried away. '

Nigel, still very shaken, stared at her. 'Do you mind if I sit down?'

'Not at all,' she smiled, as Nigel slumped onto the damp, dewy grass, still leaning against the stone. Pulling back on his shirt, he began refastening his buttons.

The robed figures had now dispersed into the dark, some of them having thrown back their hoods to reveal, in the candlelight, the dim outlines of neatly groomed, pony-tailed hair, and pretty, youthful faces. Some of them were glancing in his direction, guilty and sheepish. He spied Tess sitting on a crumbling piece of wall, picking at her fingernails with malice and generally looking very fed up indeed.

The older lady strolled confidently over to where his jumper had been discarded upon the grass, and picked it up. She then turned it back the right way, shaking it out with a motherly efficiency, and handed it back to its owner. 'There you go, dear.'

'Thank you,' said Nigel, only half resentfully. As he pulled it back on, regretting it was now rather soggy from the dew, the woman sat down next to him, neatly folding her skirts around her as she did so. Once fully dressed, Nigel ventured a question: 'What were they going to do?'

'Oh, nothing too bad,' she sighed, with a dismissive hand gesture. 'They get a little carried away sometimes. It simply isn't time yet.'

'What's it not time for?' Nigel's inquiry was understandably urgent.

'I'm afraid I can't say, dear,' she said airily. 'All I can tell you is that you're a godsend to us.'

Nigel, whose fear was swiftly abating, was now staring at her, increasingly nonplussed.

'Look,' he began. 'You seem like a very reasonable woman, but I'm afraid I can't 'offer' myself to anyone. If you think I'm some sort of 'pure soul' or something, you're quite mistaken… and, to be blunt with you, I'd like to go now. I'm sure this evening's proceedings have been quite illegal!'

The grey-haired woman looked at him sympathetically. 'There are greater laws than those of _men_, dear. I'm afraid I can't possibly let you go. However, it would be of great use to everybody, including your Professor Fox, if you could finish looking at Giles's research. We can then pass on any useful information to her at dawn.'

'At dawn? What happens at dawn?'

'Nothing for you to worry about.' Here the woman rubbed Nigel's knee affectionately, causing him to curl his lip. He was sick of being petted. 'I expect you'll want to sleep by then.'

'Well, that would be nice!' Nigel's statement dripped with sarcasm. 'Look, that guy, Henchard, you've got locked up in the dungeon, claims you've driven several men mad, and caused a couple to vanish entirely. Now I'm certainly not keen on 'disappearing', and I'm quite fond of my mind, as well…'

The woman's face suddenly convulsed with anger. 'That man in the basement is the reason that it is so important the staff is found, and the ritual carried out,' she spat venomously. 'That man - if you can call him a man - wants to rip out the heart of the forest. This is why I cannot let you go!'

'Umm…fine.' Not liking where this conversation was going, Nigel glanced hopefully around, wondering if he could make a run for it.

It didn't look very optimistic: although the girls had backed off, there was that at least two dozen of them, milling around and blocking the exits between the ruined walls. It also occurred to him that attempting to run might land him up back in their pretty, malevolent hands. Going along with the older woman, might at least give him time to think of a better plan… or for Sydney to turn up.

The grey-haired lady had overcome her sudden outburst and was now regarding him calmly: she obviously didn't think Nigel was going to scarper. Brushing the damp grass of her skirts, she rose and stretched out her hand to him:

'Come! Let us go back into the vaults and my sister, Carolyn, will tell you everything you need to know.'

……………………..

Sydney Fox was not a happy woman. The pony bite had not broken the skin, but it had hurt her pride, just as much as her arm.

To add insult to injury, the pony had then loafed quite happily over to Giles when he had produced an apple from his pocket. It had munched serenely as the museum curator tied his scarf around its collar.

No. Sydney Fox was not happy.

'Okay, Giles,' she snapped as she refastened her dishevelled hair in an attempt to restore her dignity. 'Seeing as you're the 'Beastmaster,' you can lead that thing. We need to get going, if we're going to get to Hangman's Hill by dawn.'

Giles, sensing that Sydney's equilibrium was currently a delicate one, readily agreed. This, however, did not prove to be easy. Attaching the scarf was one thing. Moving the pony was quite another.

Eventually, it was agreed that Sydney should pull from the front, while Giles should attempt to push at the back. This proved disastrous. The pony kicked him – smack! – in the stomach.

At this point, Sydney decided enough was enough.

Once Giles had regained enough puff to be able to speak, and ascertained that none of his ribs had cracked and punctured a lung, she made an executive decision.

'You stay with the pony. Just don't let it out of your sight until that key emerges. I'm going to give this 'Forest Sisterhood' a piece of my mind…'

Sydney sprinted off, embarrassingly pleased to be shot of 'Stewie.' She was also sort of glad that Nigel hadn't been there, let alone any of her rival Relic Hunters, to see the great Sydney Fox bested by a five-foot high pony. Only _she_ knew how difficult her nigh-infallible image could occasionally be to maintain…

……………………………………

Nigel reluctantly followed the woman, who casually introduced herself as Valerie, back down the spiral staircase into the dungeons.

He was not taken back to the cell with the other men. Instead, Valerie opened the wooden, metal-studded arched door to one of the chambers on the side of the corridor. She graciously motioned that he should enter, and smiled as he stepped tentatively through. The door clicked shut behind him.

At first, Nigel believed he was alone, and wasn't sorry for it. The room looked comfortable enough. Multi-coloured drapes had been hung over the great stone blocks of the walls, and sweet smelling candles burned in little alcoves. The floor was covered with homely looking cushions, in all sizes and in plush fabrics, velvety and silky.

As he suspected, though, he wasn't to have his desired solitude. Kneeling amidst the soft furnishings, in equally gorgeously hued clothes, Nigel noticed a petite woman, who he assumed must be Carolyn. She was around the same age as Valerie, maybe a little younger, and her graying brown hair was cut into a neat, boyish bob. As she looked up at him from a book, Nigel couldn't help but notice her striking features were immensely beautiful. She wore her years with grace, and her gaze, when it met his, conveyed a youthful 'joie de vivre.'

'Good God,' thought Nigel to himself. 'You look vaguely familiar…'

As she digested the sight of him, her look of studied concentration flowed into a ravishing smile.

'Nigel! I'm so glad you came…'

Nigel didn't reciprocate her warm welcome. 'I didn't come,' he stated. 'I was kidnapped, and, if you would be so kind, I'd like to go now.'

Carolyn looked sympathetic. 'Ah, yes, the kidnapping. I'm sorry about that. Valerie and I have great difficulties keeping the girls under control these days. But I'm probably to blame, at least partially…' Nigel furrowed his brow, not consoled by this news, and much perplexed by a strong feeling that this woman was no stranger to him. 'Please, take a seat and I'll tell you everything. And then,' she broke off, lowering her voice to whisper. 'I might then be able to help you get out of here.'

The woman patted a fluffy green cushion next to her, beckoning him over. Racking his brains to think where he might have seen her before, Nigel sidled over and sat down.

'That's better,' smiled Carolyn. Nigel noted that, unlike all the other women, she didn't try to touch him. It was a nice change.

'That was me, who was watching you in the forest yesterday. I was trying to work out what your presence must mean, when I had to flee. But when I told Valerie and the girls about you, they got so excited! They thought that your coming back, after all this time, and at a moment of such need, must mean that you're 'the one'…'

Nigel was confused. 'What on earth do you mean, '_the one_''? He emphasised the final two words with a sarcastic attempt at the sinister, suddenly conjuring up images of 'The Matrix.' Could he be trapped in a perverse virtual-reality computer game? It didn't seem very likely. He certainly wasn't embroiled in the usual macho-nerd cyber-universe. It was all too much of a _female_ fantasy…

He was snapped out of these musings when he realised that Carolyn was laughing softly to herself. 'Oh… so you don't remember me at all? When did you last come to the Great South Wessex Forest, Nigel? Was it 17 years ago, on Scout camp?'

Nigel's eyes widened with realisation. 'It was _you_! You rescued me from that pony!' His fear rekindled when he remembered what else she had done: 'And you made that funny sign on my forehead. My brother said you were marking me for human sacrifice! '

Carolyn laughed heartily. 'Your brother was a fool!' she chortled. Nigel didn't argue with her about that. 'I did nothing of the sort. I just said a little prayer to Mother Earth, inscribing you with the sign of Venus. I asked that you would grow up beautiful in mind and body, and that women everywhere would love and adore you. I see my prayer was answered.'

In light of the evening's happenings, Nigel wasn't convinced by this rose tinted version of events. 'If you didn't mark me for human sacrifice, what on earth were your girls doing earlier?

Carolyn shook out her bobbed hair, and waved a hand dismissively. 'Look, I'm sorry about that. But it wasn't what you thought. The girls should know that it isn't time yet… '

Nigel's expression didn't lighten. 'Time for what? I've read books about prehistoric Earth Mother cults! I know that their 'offerings' of choice were young and…'

'…male?' interjected Carolyn, suppressing a half smile.

'Yes, male! And from what I've heard, all Odo seemed to do was drive men mad and…and…'

'…perform human sacrifice? A few of the sisters believe that cruelty and sacrifice were a historical part of the spring ritual - and that the emerald and the scarlet in Odo's emblem represented the poisonous venom of the snake, and the blood of death, rather than the beauteous green of nature and the blood of life. But I, for one, don't believe that Odo would have done such a thing. I can assure you that _nobody_ in this day and age will ever lose their life or their mind at the hands of the Forest Sisterhood! Mother Earth gives, not takes life!'

Nigel was still grumbling under his breath and shifting awkwardly on his cushion, as Carolyn explained further: 'Valerie and I became interested in Odo when we were studying mediaeval history at university in the sixties. We were young, it was the summer of Love, and all we wanted to do was dance barefoot with flowers in our hair! Then we discovered documents about Odo, who made offerings to Mother Earth to celebrate the continuance of life and the joys of nature, and it all stemmed from there.'

'Oh,' said Nigel, still feeling slightly uncomfortable, despite instinctively wanting to trust this shadowy figure from his past. He vaguely suspected her of mind control.

'Look, please forgive the girls,' she entreated him. 'It wasn't what you thought. I think you were supposed to be finding it pleasurable…' Carolyn's playful eyes conveyed the rest.

Nigel stared at her, agog: had it really all been some sort of sordid sex game?

'Besides,' continued Carolyn prosaically, 'they just wouldn't listen when I told them that you and _she_ were together.'

'_Sydney _and I? I'm afraid that's not quite true. Not that I want to be 'offered' or anything, but we're not together, as such, we're just colleagues. Nothing else has happened…yet.' Despite his words, Nigel did optimistically wonder if such self-effacement was necessary. Recalling her jealousy of Tess the evening before, he couldn't help conjecturing what Syd would have done had she'd seen two dozen women attempt to strip his clothes off!

Carolyn must have read his thoughts. 'It _will_ happen. I was watching you together. Yours is an unconventional relationship, but she loves you. I saw the look in her eyes when she believed you were in danger - there was fire and passion, underlain by a true tenderness.'

'Really?' said Nigel. He couldn't quite decide if he was surprised or not. Sydney had certainly been lusting after him lately in a playful manner, but something deeper, tenderer… that was something else. That needed thought. Could it be anything more than Sydney's loyalty to him as a friend?

'You can make her very happy,' concluded Carolyn, as if reading his thoughts. 'Now, I did you a favour, many years ago, and I will do you another one now in helping you escape, if you do something for me.'

'What is it?' asked Nigel, slightly suspicious. She was the first woman he'd encountered in some time who hadn't asked him to take his clothes off. Was that about to change?

It wasn't: Carolyn's enthusiasm at that moment was for history. 'I want you to get back out there with your friend, Sydney, and find me the barrow and the resting place of the staff. But I don't want it for any silly rituals! I have been reading Giles' research and, as I suspected, you are on the verge of an amazing discovery. You must realise the historical significance of these signs of Neolithic culture? Along with the mediaeval staff, it will be more than enough to save the forest from that awful man, Henchard, and his building developers. They'll make it a World Heritage site!'

Night was heartily relieved that her request didn't involve anything to do with offerings or sacrifice. 'It is an exciting find,' he conceded. 'If you let me go, Sydney and I _will_ find it. But I'm going to need Giles' research back if we're going to have any hope at all of finding the relic in two days.'

'Of course, you may have it. I suppose you already know we need to be at the barrow for sunrise on the first day of spring. The rays of the dawning sun will reveal the chamber where the staff is hidden, which can only be opened with Odo's key…'

Nigel repressed a wince, remembering that the key was probably still 'in' Stewie, but decided not to share this with Carolyn just yet, if just to maintain a semblance of dignity.

'From what I can see,' said Nigel, 'the staff's location is revealed by the passage that Giles translated on the font in Wintoncaster Cathedral. I haven't quite worked out what it means, but I have translated it. It goes: '_Life is found …_

Carolyn interrupted and finished his sentence: _'…at the heart of the perfect number! _Yes, I was looking at that just now, translating from the Latin. I thought it might lead to something.' She paused, quietly recognising that Nigel was impressed by her abilities.

'I came up with a theory from the riddle, but it led to nothing,' he admitted.

Carolyn smiled thoughtfully, and pulled out Giles' brown leather research folder from under one of the cushions. She handed it to him. 'Of course,' said Carolyn nonchalantly, 'in female mythology, _seven_ is considered the perfect number, because it has neither factors nor product. It is the symbol of the maiden goddess Athene, and of the strength of the woman standing alone…'

'I'll bear that in mind,' said Nigel, a small smile twitching on the edge of his lips as he realised he may have a new lead on the hunt. 'Now, how am I going to get out of here without your girls eating me alive?'

Carolyn nodded towards two white robes, embroidered with the now familiar red and green markings, hanging over the top of a painted screen.

'Oh… that old chestnut,' said Nigel with a sigh. 'Ah, well, it usually works when one wants to escape from strangely dressed cults. Mind you,' he mumbled to himself, 'if memory serves, we usually seem to be trying to break _in _to their nasty lairs… heaven knows why!'

His friend looked surprised. 'How many times have you done this, Nigel?'

'More times that you'd believe!' he replied, reaching for the robes. 'Can we go now, please?'

………………………………….

Sydney was about an hour into her cross-country trek, when it started to rain. She was crossing a moor-like tract of open land, typical of that which seemed to make up much of the so-called 'forest.' The ground was covered in prickly scrub and endless, tufty ridges and muddy furrows threatened to trip her up. It was no fun, particularly with only a small flashlight to show her the way. She was just grateful that she had the GPS to keep her on track without too much effort.

Then disaster really struck. As she hurried on, her foot suddenly sunk and jammed in a particularly deep channel, twisting her ankle painfully. Sydney fell forward into the trench, landing on her hands and knees in thick, muddy water.

'Ow!' Sydney screwed her eyes shut as little lights flashed in front of her vision.

For a split-second of anguish, Sydney reverted to a little schoolgirl, who'd fallen over in the playground and was now tottering on the verge of tears. Her hands were covered in mud; an icy dampness was soaking through her leggings and permeating her flesh to the bone. The trauma of the fall had even aggravated the throbbing in her bitten arm.

With a sharp intake of breath, the micro-moment passed, the little girl vanished, and Sydney Fox returned. Thankfully, she'd felt a crunch, not a snap. She knew the ankle wasn't broken, but it hurt like hell. She had to get up, and get on… or Nigel would suffer. Straightening herself up slowly, but not putting any weight on the ankle just yet, she reached for the torch that had fallen from her hand, still lit, and into a patch of thistles. Extracting it, she felt into her pocket for the GPS.

'Damn!' She felt the other pocket, just in case. It wasn't there.

With dread, she reached downwards into the sludge, and extracted the little black box. When she shook it, it made a waterlogged, squelchy nose. She knew it was history.

Sydney offloaded her growing frustration by pitching the useless device off into the darkness, baseball-style, and screaming.

She then took a deep breath, and returned to her task. The sky was completely blank at that moment but, although a little disorientated, she was pretty sure she needed to continue in the direction she was facing when she had fallen. She decided to keep going across the field in that direction, by which time, hopefully, the moon would have reappeared and she could work things out from there…

Very gingerly, Sydney tried to put some weight of her ankle. The instant the tip of her toe hit the ground, a thunderbolt of agony shot up her leg. She hissed through her teeth, but proceeded to press her foot down. It was just a twist, she told herself. The pain would pass. Nigel needed her.

'Go with the flow,' she told herself, although she hardly felt capable of flowing. 'You can't let him down…'

It was then she saw a flash of light, a tiny flicker, at quite a distance off. Sydney paused. She could do with some help right now, if just to ask somebody to confirm the right directions. On the other hand, could this be a member of the cult who had captured Nigel?

'Hey, come on, Syd,' she told herself. 'You can still fight them off if you have to…' She nearly believed herself.

'Hey!' she shouted. 'Over here! Can you help me?'

'Sydney?'

Sydney could barely believe the she was hearing the familiar voice that answered her. Yet it was unmistakable.

'Nigel? Nigel! Over here!'

Sydney waved her torch, which blipped and went dead. Cursing yet again, she realised the battery had died. At that instant, the dim light of dawn broke over the horizon in the West. Faintly silhouetted against the glimmering smudge of pink, she saw a small figure.

Nigel stood motionless for a subliminal moment. She knew his intricate mind was working out the direction from which her voice had come. A second later, he began to run straight towards her.

'Sydney? Syd… I'm here, I'm coming. Are you all right?'

'Nigel! I'm here. I'll be fine, but I've hurt my ankle…'

'I'm coming.'

Sydney sank back onto the hostile ground, so grateful to rest her ankle that she barely felt the barbs of the foliage. She almost laughed. After her mad struggle with the pony, and her desperate dash cross-country to save him, it was Nigel who was coming to rescue her.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	7. Nest building

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

'Syd! You're hurt!' As soon as he could see her properly, Nigel's fast trot through the bracken became a sprint. Despite nearly coming-a-cropper when his own foot slipped down a pot-hole, he was soon poised at her side.

'I'm fine, Nige. It's just a twisted ankle – it hurts like hell, but it'll pass.' Sydney swallowed her discomfort and, using Nigel's offered arm, pulled herself to her feet. Pain tore up her leg like an electric current; the little lights flashed again in front of her eyes as her consciousness momentarily wavered. She felt his hand slip behind her waist as he steadied her.

'Do you think you should move?' asked Nigel, concerned. 'Ankles can be painful. I should know…'

Sydney forced a pale smile: 'I'm sure I'm up to a 'fast hobble!' Do you still have your GPS?'

Nigel shook his head slowly, his eyes regretful. 'Sorry Syd. I think somebody must have taken it. I've just been following the first path I thought led in roughly the right direction and hoping that nightmarish things weren't going to start happening again.'

The dramatic undertone in Nigel's voice reminded Syd that, being caught up in her own struggles and then her joy at seeing him, she had not even checked that he was alright. She squeezed his arm. 'It's okay, Nigel. I guess you've had quite a night as well. How did you escape?'

He groaned, and pushed the fingers of his free hand back through his hair. 'I didn't. Somebody let me go. Without her help, I'm not sure I would have got away with my life.' Nigel was going to say 'dignity' but, not wanting to answer any humiliating questions, settled for the latter.

'I'm glad you made it, whatever happened.' Sydney smiled grimly. She was all too guiltily aware that, had it been down to her alone, she may not have made it in time to rescue him. When Nigel said nothing more, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, feeling the hold around her waist tighten. His hand reached up to meet hers, tacky with damp, and nearly as freezing as she was. 'Come on.'

As the amber morning light filtered over the horizon, its vibrancy intensifying by the second, Sydney could see that Nigel looked tired and dishevelled. His hair was sticking out at a variety of eclectic angles, he had no coat, and his collar was half tucked in, half out of his shirt. Furtively glancing sideways, her eyes scanned him up and down, appreciative nevertheless.

'Nige,' whispered Sydney. 'Your flies are undone…'

'Oh,' Nigel pulled up the offending zip and cursed silently. The embarrassment, nevertheless, loosened his tongue: 'Let me tell you, I've had _one hell_ of a night! There was this female cult, and they're into some very strange rituals…'

'The Forest Sisterhood?'

'Yeah, that was them. They've got Reiner and Mayor Henchard locked up in the dungeon of Coomb Castle, and they put me in there with them and then…then…' Nigel went silent, as he winced at an unpleasant memory.

'Then? Did that Tess woman try something?'

'I'd rather draw a veil over what happened next,' blurted Nigel. 'It wasn't very pleasant, I can tell you that. But we've got to finish the hunt before it's too late!'

'To stop the sisterhood getting Odo's staff?'

'Um…not exactly...' Nigel cringed again. 'I, um, promised one of the 'sisters,' Carolyn. She's not like the others, and I think it's really important that we find the relic for her…'

Sydney considered his statement sceptically. 'This isn't the first time you've been kidnapped and then decided you wanted to _help _your captor…'

'Sydney, it isn't bloody Stockholm Syndrome! You'd like this woman. As she was helping me escape, she was telling me all sorts of stuff about prehistoric Earth Mother religions and mediaeval mysticism that _I_ certainly never knew. She wants to find the staff, the stone circle and the barrow for their historical value and because it will stop the mayor building a theme park on the north part of the forest!'

Sydney momentarily stopped her slow progress to absorb this news: 'Mayor Henchard wants to build a theme park?'

'Yeah. That was him who attacked you in the shower…'

'I know, Giles told me, but Giles said…' Sydney frowned and then continued, in a low, angry voice: 'Giles said he just wanted to stop the sisterhood because they had some murderous vendetta against men! Dammit! I wonder what his game is?'

Nigel shrugged: 'Do you think the museum curator is working with the mayor?'

Sydney upped her pace across the field: 'I don't know, but I don't think Giles is the boy-scout he seemed to be. We'd better get a move on. I've left Stewie with him, and I don't trust _either_ of them! Ow!' Sydney flinched as she accidentally jarred her ankle against a high tuft of moss.

Nigel exhaled slowly, supporting as much of her weight as he could manage, and wondering how she could still keep up such a breakneck pace: 'I can't wait to get back to the pub,' he mumbled. 'I'd kill for a slap-up breakfast and a nice, hot bath…'

………………………………………………….

'Giles? Giles!'

It took nearly two and a half hours to get back to the field near the Flighty Filly Inn where Sydney had left Giles with the pony. Now devoid of maps and both GPS devices, route-finding had been a matter of 'go with the flow.' The 'flow' had taken the scenic route.

Finally reaching their destination, however, they discovered no sign of Giles.

'Damn!' snorted Syd. 'Either he's found the key and run off with it, or the sisterhood have got him.'

'I'm not quite sure why the sisterhood would want him,' mused Nigel, smugly conceding to himself that he didn't think Giles was quite their type. 'Then again, they've got Reiner! Actually, Giles strikes me as the sort who might have just gone home to bed.'

Sydney rolled her eyes. 'You could be right.' She glanced around the field hopefully. 'Can you see that 'bloody pony'?'

Nigel regarded Sydney curiously. 'That 'bloody pony'? That doesn't sound like your usual sentiments towards God's little creatures, Syd?'

Sydney decided she wasn't so proud as to have to hide the truth from Nigel: 'Stewie bit me,' she confessed quietly.

Nigel's jaw dropped at this revelation of her fallibility. 'It bit you!' His surprise was quickly replaced by concern and anger: 'Where? Did he break the skin? That nasty little bugger - I told you they were evil!'

Sydney smiled and shook her head. 'No. He was just defending himself. I was trying to tie a scarf around his collar.' She pulled up her sleeve and showed him the growing, purple bruise on her arm. In the middle were the sure signs of blunt, pony teeth marks. There were scarlet indents on Sydney's smooth, caramel skin.

Nigel made a sympathetic hissing noise through his teeth. Sydney giggled. 'Is my bruise bigger than yours was?'

Nigel scrunched his nose as he tried to recall: 'I think mine was bigger, although I guess my arm was smaller then. It _was_ 17 years ago! Bloody ponies!

'Bloody ponies!' echoed Sydney again, this time playfully mimicking Nigel's accent. 'Come on; let's see if we can find him. I hope he hasn't been kidnapped too!'

Stewie was fine. He was standing in the corner of the field, upright but quite still, and set apart from the other creatures, which were huddled in a clump. Sydney found it interesting that their pony appeared to be quite a loner! He was fast asleep.

'Let's not disturb him,' whispered Nigel. He winced as he asked the next question: 'Do you want me to start searching through the… you know. For the key?'

'If you really want,' replied Sydney, a cheeky glint in her eye. 'Personally, I'm heading back to the pub to soak my ankle in a nice, hot bath. I don't think this pony, or his droppings, are going anywhere for a while. So, the choice is yours. Want to join me or stay out here with your animal chums?'

Nigel bit his lip, suppressing an overenthusiastic grin. 'Do I really need to answer that question?'

……………………………..

As they entered the yard of the Inn, they could tell something was wrong. Sydney had told Nigel about the fire last night, and her theory that it was started by Tess, but had assumed the damage had been minor. The building certainly looked relatively unimpaired. However, despite the fact it was now nearly 9 am, there were no lights on at the windows, and no homely coil of smoke ascended from any of its many, tall brick chimneys.

The landlord was standing by the back door, looking miserable. When he spotted Sydney and Nigel, he placed his hands on his hips, and his tone was surly: 'Oh, hullo. I wondered when you might show up.' He eyeballed Nigel suspiciously. 'Have you seen that harlot, Tess, lately?'

'Not lately,' muttered Nigel.

The pub owner scowled as he pointed to the blackened walls of his kitchen. 'Do you know anything about this, lad? The whole place could have gone up, you know?'

'He had nothing to do with it,' interjected Sydney aggressively. 'Shouldn't you be a little concerned that your staff are drugging and kidnapping the guests?' Nigel nodded and huffed defiantly, squaring his shoulders. It was always nice not having to explain things for oneself.

As he recalled Sydney's demonstrative behaviour the previous night, the landlord decided he didn't want to argue with the brash American. 'Okay, miss. I just thought it was a little odd that this young man and the girl disappeared together.'

'I keep telling you: Nigel was kidnapped. Besides, why would he disappear with Tess, when he's staying here with _me_?' Nigel nodded again and grinned complacently.

The landlord scratched his head, and conceded to Sydney's point. 'I don't know, miss,' he said weakly. 'I'd better find Tess myself.'

'You do that. And if you find her, let me know. I'd like a word with her!' Having said this, Sydney's serious countenance melted into a congenial smile. 'Now, if you don't mind, Nigel and I would like to go up to our room. And we'd both like some breakfast.'

The landlord suddenly looked far more apologetic. 'I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not allowed to let anybody back in until the health inspectors have been round. There was a lot of smoke damage, and I'd be breaking all sorts of regulations…'

'Please! We won't tell anybody!' entreated Nigel. For various reasons, he'd be looking forward to that bath.

'Sorry. If you walk into the village, I'm sure that Mrs Miggins at number 27 Mousehole Lane, will let you use her bathroom. She's a lovely old dear, and a friend of mine. She put up several of my other guests last night.'

Sydney shook her head rapidly. 'We can't go that far from the field.' She glanced at Nigel and cringed apologetically. 'Stewie?'

'But you said the pony would be okay for a while!'

'That was when I thought we could keep an eye on him from the bathroom window,' Sydney broke off and yawned widely, the night's events catching up with her.

'Keen pony spotters, eh?' said the landlord, completely misunderstanding the situation. 'Now, if you want to keep an eye on the nags and have a bit of a kip, I've got just the thing. There's a tent in the outbuilding, and that field behind the inn is just fine for camping. I'll lend it to you if you like, and it should tide you over until you can go back into the pub!'

Sydney narrowed her eyes and made an executive decision: 'We'll take it.'

……………………….

Ten minutes later, Sydney and Nigel stood side by side, in the field, staring at the pile of orange canvas, ground sheets and blankets that the innkeeper had lent them.

'It isn't exactly a hot bath!' exclaimed Nigel. He glanced up at the steely sky, noting that it was starting to drizzle. 'Are you sure we can't pop around to Mrs Miggins? She sounds like a friendly old biddy.'

'We mustn't risk losing that pony again,' stated Sydney. 'This way, I can rest up my ankle for a few hours, and we can take turns in keeping a watch on Stewie. Then we'd better go find that barrow, using your friend's theory about the number seven.'

'I guess you're right,' conceded Nigel. 'You make yourself comfortable on those blankets. I'll put up the tent.'

Sydney raised her eyebrows. 'You sure you can manage?'

'Of course I can!' retorted Nigel, as a gust of wind ruffled their hair and clothes. 'But I'd better get cracking. I can't see this weather getting any better.'

He was quietly pleased when Sydney actually did settle down on the plastic groundsheet and wrapped herself in woolly blankets, to nurse her injured leg. He didn't usually get the chance to play the 'gentleman', but it was a role that he relished, particularly in the circumstances. As he lay out the canvas and began to weave the tent pole through the loops of rope, he started to think about the previous nights experiences in the bathroom, before the onset of the unpleasantness. Had she really given him a 'come on'?

It all seemed such a long time ago, he could barely believe it. He couldn't help but get a little excited as he recalled the sight of her in the bath, her svelte limbs protruding from the mass of fluffy, white bubbles. Nevertheless, Nigel's spirits were dampened a little when he remembered a previous time he had shared a tent with her, when they were pursuing the Emperor's bride's sarcophagus, and they'd snuggled together in a sleeping bag. He thought she'd given him a 'come on' then. He couldn't have been more wrong…

'What is it?'

Sydney's inquiry took Nigel by surprise: he had been trying to convince himself that it was probably all for the best if they never got seriously involved, and that all future advances should be rebuffed, politely but firmly.

'Uh, nothing,' said Nigel, pursing his lips as he studiously decided which side of the tent to erect first.

'It didn't look like nothing. What were you looking so miserable about?'

'Oh…um…' Nigel racked his brain quickly for a convincing lie: 'I was just thinking about scout camp, that's all. Putting up this tent reminded me of it.'

'Oh, Nigel! It couldn't have all been bad. You must have some happy memories. I had a great time on camp when I was a kid!'

'You did? I didn't know you were Girl Guide.'

Sydney laughed affectionately. 'I wasn't. I was too much of a tearaway for all that knot tying and those silly uniforms! But I went camping, all right. It was a blast!'

Nigel detected a mischievous glint in Sydney's eye. 'Did your parents take you?' he asked doubtfully.

Sydney shook her head and giggled, hooking her hair over an ear with her fingers and looking surprisingly girlish. 'Oh no! I was left pretty much to my own devices during those long summers in Hawaii as a teenager. My girlfriends and I used to just head up into the hills and let ourselves go!' Nigel couldn't prevent his imagination from running amok at the thought of Sydney and all her nearly-as-pretty friends, skipping like fairies through the wildernesses of Hawaii, swimming in lakes while scantily clad, having pillow fights in their pyjamas. It was all just a little too exciting.

'Did your father approve?' Nigel frowned, attempting to sound serious, and desperately tried to concentrate on which flap of canvas attached to which bit of pole.

'My dad was just fine about it,' continued Sydney, 'until he realised that some of the young guys from the town were hiking out to see us.' Her eyes glazed over. 'I'll never forget kissing Craig Camacho under that low-hanging Hawaiian moon.' A nostalgic smile flickered across her lips. 'He was tall, dark and handsome and had the most gorgeous deep, brown eyes, which shimmered like the lake at midnight when they caught the light of the stars. I wanted to drown in them.'

Nigel flinched at the obvious longing in Syd's voice for the '_tall,_ dark and handsome' Craig, and then cursed loudly as he realised he'd put the wrong rope through the wrong hole. Sydney was too far lost in her reminiscences to notice: 'I guess I thought he and I would be together forever,' she continued wistfully. 'Ah, well. I was only 13! I got over him soon enough when Bart Sala turned up - _he'd_ borrowed his dad's jeep. Then there was Charlie Yang-Cao, and he'd got his own tent... '

Nigel could contain himself no longer. 'Good God!' he exclaimed, as he thrust a tent-peg into the ground. 'Thirteen! Was there ever a time when you weren't so… experienced?'

Sydney shrugged. 'I was a little wild, I guess. We were innocent enough…'

'The most exciting thing that ever happened to me on camp was when my friend, Chris, and I climbed up trees to spy into the Girl Guides enclosure!'

'You Peeping Tom!' exclaimed Sydney. 'That's way worse than anything I got up to!'

'It wasn't _my_ idea, besides…there were too many leaves,' protested Nigel. 'I never saw a thing. Anyway, if I had, it would have been _small_ compensation for the hours spent trudging round after Preston in the pouring rain, digging latrine pits, being bitten by ponies…'

Sydney raised her hands in mock despair. 'Why do you always remember the bad things? A person can be destroyed by negative energy, you know, Nige.'

'Yes, yes,' said Nigel distractedly. He dispelled his 'negative energy' by banging in the last tent peg. He then took a step back from the fully erected tent, keeping his fingers crossed. Despite the harsh gust of wind that swept across the field at that moment, it held firm.

'Good job,' complemented Sydney.

'Thanks.' He held out a hand to help her up off the blanket. 'Would you like to step into your palace, Miss Fox?' The request was accompanied by a charming grin.

'Thank you very much, Mr Bailey.' Sydney took his hand and rose. She winced at the slight discomfort as she placed weight on her ankle, but it was much less than earlier. 'I think I should be fine after a couple of hours rest in this tent.'

Leaving her standing for a moment, Nigel scrambled to retrieve the groundsheet and blankets from the damp grass, and spread them inside before Sydney entered. Sydney quietly admitted to herself that it was worth suffering a minor injury just to force her to let Nigel be so chivalrous. It suited him, she thought. In fact, it was very attractive…

Sydney settled herself in the back of the tent. Now she was inside, the pitter-patter of the drizzle and the smack of the wind, as it ripped across the canvas, made it appear much stormier outside that it had seemed before. 'You coming in?' she called to Nigel, who was still fussing about with the tent pegs. 'It sounds like its getting wetter, and I can see Stewie from here.'

There was a second of hesitation, and then Nigel appeared in the opening. 'Don't mind if I do.'

He sat down next to her, close, but not close enough. Sydney lifted the blanket that he had draped around her shoulder and wrapped it around him as well, so they could 'cosy up' together. Nigel glanced at her, and licked his lips nervously.

Her adjustment meant that his shoulder was now pressed against hers, and she could feel the tense muscle under the thick, woolly jumper. Glancing down, she saw his fingers twitching nervously. Syd could tell Nigel was in a quandary, and wondered if he was on the verge of slipping his arm around her. It seemed such a natural thing to do, that she _wished_ he would.

'Damn it,' she thought, 'if he's not going to snuggle, I'm going to have to tell him to!' She decided to start with a bit of subtle encouragement.

'Hey, I'm kind of cold, still.' Sydney spoke softly and her hand drifted on top of his. 'Fancy warming me up a little?'

Nigel's eyes locked on to hers, his stare wavering between that of a diving hawk and a startled rabbit. She felt his hand shift uncertainly under hers.

'But….um…you never answered my question from last night,' he entreated. 'About how all 'this'…changes our relationship?'

His gaze penetrated hers more deeply now, imploring her to answer. Sydney wondered if he could read _her_ perplexity.

'Or is this just like those five days you spent in an igloo with Reiner?'

This time, she knew she had to answer. 'No, of course not. You _know_ you mean more to me than that.' Sydney struggled to put her passions into words, as a series of illogical thoughts ran through her head. Four years she and Nigel had been together as partners, and for four years she'd loved him dearly as a friend, and thought he was deadly cute, but not her type for the 'real thing.' There was no denying now, though, that things _seemed_ different, in that she was finding it increasingly hard to keep her hands off him! She took a deep breath and admitted in a husky, beguiling voice: 'I'd be very happy if this changed our relationship a little.'

'Uh, huh,' nodded Nigel, his lips curving into a small, comprehending smile. 'I was just wondering…'

He lifted the back of his hand to her cheek, and brushed it gently.

'That's not going to warm me up!' With a laugh, Sydney pulled him into an enthusiastic embrace, and plunged her lips onto his. He returned the kiss ardently, and with some skill. Sydney soundlessly moaned with pleasure as their bodies melted into one, their limbs entwining as their fingers entangled in each other hair.

Sydney broke away from the kiss, as her hands crept up underneath Nigel's jumper, exploring the smooth, but slightly damp flesh. He had certainly worked up a sweat putting up that tent. The thought was arousing, and her breath and heart began to race as his warmth seeped into her suddenly throbbing veins and began to permeate her whole being.

All the same, there was uneasiness in the light hazel eyes that regarded her intently: 'Syd,' he gasped. 'This is all 'changing' very fast…' She noticed that his caressing touch had been withdrawn; Nigel appeared to have descended into an uncertain limbo, although she could feel he was intensely excited.

'Go with the flow,' she whispered in his ear. Withdrawing one of her hands from under his jumper, her fingertips began to toy with his still damp fringe. With a swiftness that almost startled her, he caught her hand in his and pressed it against his lips…

At that instant, there was an awesome creak and the crucial tent pole at the front lurched forty-five degrees to the east. Nigel yelped as Sydney leapt to catch the descending woodwork. It was all too late to stop the canvas descending around them.

…………………………

By the time Nigel had reassembled the tent , this time with Sydney's begrudgingly received help, they were both tired, fed up and neither of them was in a marvellous temper.

Sydney was frustrated: with herself, with Nigel, but mainly with the cheap and badly made tent. Nigel was just embarrassed, and was repeatedly muttering self reproachful comments under his breath. Sydney caught only some of his unseemly oaths, but distinctly heard him say: 'I suppose Reiner had no problem keeping that igloo in tact,' and 'I bet Charlie's tent poles stayed upright!'

Sydney wanted to reassure him, but now she wasn't so sure herself. Maybe 'going with the flow' wasn't always the best option, especially when it came to lusting over one's assistant. But, then again, with Nigel, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to …

She found herself strangely unsettled. Spotting that Stewie had woken up, and was now lurching off across the field in search of breakfast, Sydney decided to it was time to get back to business.

'Okay, Nigel,' she sighed. He was jamming in the last tent peg with his foot, stamping on it as if it deserved to die. 'Do you want to catch some sleep, while I keep an eye on that pony?'

'No, you should get some rest.' said Nigel flatly. 'I'll watch the bloody thing.'

'Thanks,' said Sydney, genuinely grateful. She was shattered - the pain of her injured ankle still burrowed deep into her usually limitless supplies of energy - although she knew Nigel must be tired too. The light grey lines that now underscored his eyes told her that, although she hated to think what a mess _she_ must look. 'And thanks for…uh, keeping me warm.' The last words were light and jokey.

Nigel chuckled humourlessly. 'Any time… sorry it was so unsuccessful.'

'It wasn't,' reassured Sydney with a wink. 'It was just great.'

Sydney curled up under the blankets inside, and Nigel sat down in the opening of the tent. Still seething with himself, he stared fiercely at Stewie, as if projecting his self-chastisement onto the pony. After a few minutes, however, his features softened a little, as he found himself listening to the peaceful rise and fall of Sydney's breath. Tentatively peeping over his shoulder he confirmed that, despite everything, she was already fast asleep.

Reluctantly tearing his eyes away from her, Nigel returned his concentration to the pony. Stewie was currently pulverising a clump of greenery and didn't look like he was going anywhere soon. Deciding it was a moment for multi-tasking, Nigel reached back and pulled out Giles's research from Sydney's satchel. He had to be keen to peruse the notes on Odo again since his meeting with Carolyn, to check up on her claim that the bishop, and the Forest Sisterhood, never performed human sacrifice on defenceless young men!

Rather than finding anything along these lines, however, his gaze fell upon some notes that Carolyn had placed on the top of the pile. They were in Mediaeval Latin, and had not yet been translated, but Nigel could see that they described the results of the spring 'ritual' when performed with the Bishop's staff.

He effortlessly made sense of the ancient language. Although excruciatingly vague about the ritual itself, the outcome was clear enough: Under the protection of Mother Earth, the whole forest exploded with life. The ground was knee deep with flowers, the trees spread their branches as high as the heavens, the skies filled with birds seeking food for their many young, and the ponies had six offspring each.

'Well, it's not all good then,' mumbled Nigel, picturing a forest overrun with marauding baby ponies. Nevertheless, the otherwise Eden-like scene that the texts described, evoked a warm, fuzzy feeling, and filled him with a new-found appreciation for the joys of spring: of being young, free and… in love?

Optimism surging inside, Nigel glanced back over his shoulder at Sydney. Surveying her sleeping form, he revelled in the silky flow of her hair, now decorously embellishing the seventies-style brown and multicoloured blankets on which she lay.

'You're an enigma, Sydney Fox,' he muttered and, surrendering a little to the descending haze of tiredness, he lay down full length next to her. Manfully resisting the magnetic pull of her sensual curves, he rested his chin up on his fist, so he could glance over at the pony, and enjoy the view of his beautiful colleague at the same time.

He soon found himself very comfortable indeed, warm even, and it became an increasing struggle to keep his eyes on the pony or, indeed, upon the tranquil vista of sleeping Sydney…

…………………………..

_Nigel Bailey stood, quite alone, underneath a stout-trunked, ancient English oak, gazing up into its unclad, wintry branches. Beyond it, he was vaguely aware of a steely, grey sky, which belied only one chink of blue. Then everything began to change._

_In the instant of a heartbeat, green buds sprouted on its twiggy, naked branches, swelling into fresh spring leaves. It was then he became aware of the gentle shimmer of birdsong, and the little brown woodland birds that hopped along the branches between the increasingly dense greenery. Their nests were built in a flash, and Nigel found himself willing on the sight of a blue tinged egg, the sound of a crack, and a juvenile 'cheap'…_

_However, Nigel was not looking at the tree any more. For a reason unbeknownst to him, he was now regarding a sun drenched clearing in the woodland landscape, strewn with a carpet of purple-headed bluebells and delicate gold narcissi. Frolicking between the flowers were cotton-tailed rabbits and bouncingly mischievous squirrels. Amidst this scene of life, was the most wondrous vision that ever infiltrated his consciousness. He trembled with joy, and could not understand why he did not shout out in ecstasy._

_Under the spreading branches was Sydney, her graceful features set in an inscrutable smile, reminiscent of the Mona Lisa. Her hair cascaded like ebony waterfalls, flowing over the arcs of her shoulders, and the curves of her breasts. _

_The moment passed all too quickly. Although he didn't see it happen, Nigel suddenly knew a cloud had floated over the sun, the animals fled and the colours of the flowers began to fade. As the light dimmed a little, he suddenly became aware Sydney was sitting on a pony, a familiarly-marked grey one with pointed ears, and a flyaway beard. She was riding side saddle and, although her modesty was still concealed by her flowing locks, she was utterly naked._

_Sydney was riding Stewie naked! As Nigel reeled in horror, her face began to change. Her lips flashed from the hue of a sumptuous peach, to a searing blood red. Her sleek hair was no longer glittering brown, but stark, peroxide white. _

_Tess grinned down at him, whipping the pony's backside with a riding crop that seemed to grow out of nowhere, driving the poor creature forward. As she bore down upon Nigel she spoke, but the voice didn't belong to her. It was Preston! Or was it Reiner? Nigel couldn't tell, although the words were unmistakable:_

_'I've got you marked for human sacrifice! I'm going to chop you into little pieces!'_

_As Nigel braced himself for the inevitable blow, the earth began to quake…_

………………………………..

'Nigel…come on, wake up.'

'Wha?' his eyes snapped open and absorbed the sight of Sydney. She was shaking his shoulder urgently, clearly slightly irate.

'You fell asleep! You were supposed to be watching the pony!'

'Bugger!' Nigel sat upright and scrambled to the front of the tent. It had stopped raining, but the sky was still an ominous grey. He scanned frantically around for the pony, but Stewie nowhere to be seen. Rubbing his eyes, Nigel hoped desperately that his vision was blurred by sleep, and tried looking again.

Meanwhile, Sydney had been checking her watch. 'Nigel! We've been asleep for over eight hours… that creature could be miles off by now!'

Nigel grimaced sheepishly. 'Sorry. I suppose we'd better go look for it.'

'Yeah, I suppose we'd better,' spat Sydney as she pulled her brush from her bag and proceeded to scrape her hair back into a ponytail. Nigel flinched at the force of her glare, still feeling somewhat traumatised by the memory of his dream. He realised that this probably wasn't a good moment to share it with her.

She threw a flashlight in his direction. 'Come on. Let's go find this barrow. And then, I guess, we'd better go on a pony trek…'

Nigel pulled himself to his feet, looking utterly forlorn. Sydney, despite her annoyance, experienced a pang of guilt. 'Hey, Nige,' she murmured, squeezing his shoulder. 'Are you okay…I mean about earlier.'

'Yes, fine,' said Nigel, stilling himself and meeting her gaze.

'Great! Let's get on then… and maybe it isn't all bad. By the time we get back, the pub might be open again. And then we can have that bath…'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	8. Ancient Secrets

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for those reviews! Yup – I dooooooooooo miss you when you're gone ;)**

**Note: this story is now part of the K and A shared universe series, which so far also includes Tanya Reed's fic, Megan. Yup, we're joining forces a bit. Also, thanks to Angie for loan of some skeletons from 'Need' :) Sorry if this chapter is a bit wordy, I spent ages trying to make it work and I'm still not sure...okay, I'll shut up now.**

CHAPTER EIGHT: ANCIENT SECRETS.

'Do you see anything, Syd? Besides trees and holly bushes, that is?'

It had taken several hours for Sydney and Nigel to locate four monoliths in the hidden stone circle, each marked with the sacred female number: seven. Linking them together on a map, they eventually identified what they hoped to be the midway point between them. Seeking it had taken them on a lengthy scramble, deep into the woodland.

The anticipation of the find helped them ignore the aura of sexual tension that tinged the air. Only the occasional moment of simmering eye contact, from which Sydney would avert her gaze nearly as quickly as Nigel, betrayed their shared knowledge of what had happened in the tent.

Now, keeping his fingers crossed that this was the right spot, Nigel shone his torch uncertainly ahead of him to where Sydney was thrashing her way through yet more dense undergrowth.

'Syd? Anything?'

'Yeah,' said Sydney, her voice husky and excited. 'I see something - stinging nettles, which means this ground has been…'.

'... disturbed at some point.' Nigel finished her sentence, his excitement matching hers. 'I think this is it! There is just _something_ about this place!'

'I agree. It has a strange vibe to it. Have you noticed that the foliage here is so much thicker than in the rest of the forest?'

'Yes. There are a lot of bloody bugs too – ugh!' Nigel grimaced as he swept away a beetle that was crawling onto his hand. 'The sheer number seems strange for this time of year…' Despite his outburst, Nigel wondered if the edgy, fertile atmosphere was bolstered by a frisson of something quite unconnected with prehistoric barrows and overactive wildlife. Sydney silently wondered the same.

'Nige! I've found some sort of earthworks…and there's a rock here. It could be some sort of entrance stone.' Nigel tore to her side, shining the torch onto her discovery.

The rock was covered in lichen and moss, and hadn't been disturbed for hundreds of years. Nevertheless, it clearly hadn't evolved naturally in the boggy, flat environment of the forest.

'It's limestone!' Nigel squinted to peruse its craggy surface. 'This certainly looks like one of the front stone's of a Neolithic barrow, which means that the rest of the dolmen should be right here.' They both began tearing away bindweed and bracken. 'Yes, here's another stone' cried Nigel, uncovering evidence of a large, upright rock less than a metre away.

'And here's the top one!' Sydney knocked triumphantly against the large, stone slab that was rested across the top of the two, revealing the parameters of the entrance to the barrow. With bated breath, they began clearing away the rest of the greenery.

Nigel was momentarily distracted as his hand brushed across her slender fingers. An irresistible energy fizzed between them, jolting them both like an electric current. This time, Sydney greeted Nigel's imploring gaze, with a knowing smile. Enough was enough: she quietly vowed she would pick things up with Nigel, just where they'd been when the tent collapsed, as soon as she got an opportunity. Something really _had_ changed.

Working fast, they soon uncovered a further stone, set in between the others, which sealed the entrance to the barrow like a locked door in its frame.

'Do you think we can crack it open?' asked Nigel, jostling in front of Sydney to give the stone a good shove.

Sydney frowned, concentrating, with some effort, on the matter in hand rather than Nigel's well-fitting pants. 'If Odo was as powerful as people say he was, he would have made sure the staff was guarded well. We should probably be mindful for traps.'

'Oh, yes, good thought,' said Nigel quickly. He took a cautionary step back, still perusing the stones intently and studiously ignoring the way that Sydney's hair provocatively tickled his face and neck as he squeezed past. Lovers or not, he was starting to worry that she would have to fire him if all this 'sparking' prevented him from doing his job! 'I've been wondering,' he said seriously. 'I sort of understand all the Earth Mother, and worship of nature stuff. But what I don't understand is why a mediaeval _man_ of the cloth, would want to revive a cult of female worship? Do you really think he was mad?'

'I don't see why he should be,' said Sydney matter-of-factly, as she ran her fingers down the cracks between the stones, looking for any levers or irregularities. 'Women _and_ men in the ancient world worshipped the Earth Mother, and _mediaeval_ religion wasn't as patriarchal as many people think! Many female divines believed they could be closer to God, more Christlike, because of the suffering of the female body. Some mediaeval nuns starved themselves, much in the style of modern anorexia, to mimic Christ. They believed that in doing so they eclipsed the power of their male counterparts.' Nigel's tummy rumbled loudly at the mere thought of such abstinence, but his sincere mood prevented him from complaining.

'You don't need to tell me that women have always been powerful, Sydney. Men - decent men, that is - have always respected that…' Nigel broke off, the half playful, half yearning look in his eyes stating louder than words that Sydney would always be the Goddess of _his_ soul. 'It just seems a little strange, that's all. Something that Carolyn said to me, made me think that Odo might not have been all that he seemed… what is it?'

Sydney was now bouncing her shoulder against the front slab, an anticipatory smile curving on her lips. 'This stone is much thinner than the rest. I don't think it's a Neolithic megalith like the others.'

'A mediaeval cover-stone?'

'I reckon so. Come, help me move it.'

Nigel squeezed in next to Sydney, and pressed his hand and chest against the stone.

'Okay? Push!'

They both shoved hard, gritting their teeth and straining until their cheeks glowed pink.

'I don't think it's going to give,' puffed Nigel, betwixt the groans that accompanied his effort.

'It'll give,' gasped Sydney, exerting herself to her limits. 'Just… push… harder!'

'Nnnnnng!'

'Aaaaaaaah!' Sydney's triumphal scream echoed around the forest. She, Nigel and the stone slab, toppled forward into the barrow, landing in the dark interior with a dull thud. Light poured into a secret space that had known nothing but the blackness of centuries, now violated by the temporarily unmoving pile of clothes, flesh and tangled limbs that was Sydney and Nigel.

Sydney had landed on top of her assistant, her legs straddling his waist, and her hands clamped eagerly against the now taut pectoral muscles of his chest. His hands rested upon her backside, where he had randomly grabbed her as they fell. In a moment of shock, his fingers quivered slightly but did not move.

'Errr, Nigel. Are you okay?' Her lips hovered inches above his.

'I…I…'

Nigel could not immediately find the words to answer. He was physically fine, he thought. He had banged the back of his head against the stone, but not too hard. Or maybe he had? Why had he not yet apologised profusely and moved his hands from their incriminating and ungentlemanly resting place? Why had the sudden, intimate proximity of his boss flung him into a breathless limbo between intense humiliation and uncontrollable desire? Surely he should listen to the portent of the ominous later stages of his dream and the tumbling tent, and withdraw his hands immediately! Then again, he was only human… and he did… care for her…and after that excruciating trek he'd just experienced through woodland…and everything that had happened earlier…

Suppressing these tormenting thoughts, Nigel found his tongue. 'I…I'm terribly sorry.' He snatched away his hands. 'I'm quite all right.'

In the gloom, he never saw Syd's mouth twitch into an ironic half-smile. More than anything, she wanted to kiss the well-formed lips that lingered so tantalisingly near hers, aesthetically illuminated in the stream of light that wandered onto his handsome face. He seemed to draw her like a magnet.

She wondered if he could tell how the feel of his body against hers had flooded her with a sensual awareness. Surely even sweet, innocent Nigel could tell by now, she mused. Suddenly wishing she had felt these emotions four years ago, she sighed internally. All that time she had wasted!

Well, not any more. Even if she had a hunt to finish, this wasn't a moment that Sydney Fox could let slip away unmarked…

As she pressed her lips against his, Sydney's hands slipped to his shoulders and began to slowly massage behind them, melting all too rigid nerves and muscles with their dexterous strokes.

She felt his hands drift up to hold her again, rather more modestly than before, molding into the small of her back.

'Syd…' Nigel moaned with an ill concealed desire as she broke away.

'Yup, something has definitely changed,' she winked. 'Come on! We've got work to do…' Grabbing Nigel by the arm, she pulled him up after her. 'Now, where's the torch. I'm dying to see what's in this barrow!'

Scrambling to find his feet, Nigel licked his lips thoughtfully and returned his mind to business. 'It in my back pocket,' he replied, pulling the flashlight from where it had been digging into him rather uncomfortably as he lay, under her, on the slab. He handed it to Sydney.

They both tingled with a very different sort of excitement from that of a minute ago, as she illuminated the interior. The air was crisp and cool against their skin, with a clear, silent ambience that seemed to belong to a much larger space, such as a cathedral.

As was typical of such barrows, the main, narrow chamber was empty and stretched ahead of them for over ten metres. The roof was low, not quite high enough to stand up straight, and supported by the same, sturdy stone flags that held up the sides. Several smaller compartments could be discerned, branching off at the sides.

'Where do you think the staff would be hidden?' asked Nigel.

'We can't be absolutely sure it's here,' admitted Sydney. 'All we know is that its whereabouts will be revealed if we are here at the barrow on the first day of spring, remember? And we need that key!' Nigel nodded in acknowledgement. 'However, this place must contain something of significance that might help.' Creeping a little further in, she shone her torch into one of the openings on the left.

'The people of the later Stone Age would have put the bones and any other relics in the side chambers,' stated Sydney. 'Sort of like…this.' She shone the flashlight into one of the side rooms.

'That's a _lot_ of bones,' said Nigel, surveying the piles of dry, human remains, large and small, that covered the chamber floor, at the far side piled to nearly waist height. An icy shiver brushed down the back of his neck. He'd seen a lot of old bones, but as the torch lit up the gaping eye sockets of a crumbling, chalk-white skull, it reminded Nigel of his mortality, taunting his youth with the gravitas of many centuries of death. 'We better take a sample for dating,' he muttered defiantly.

'Yeah,' breathed Sydney. 'I'm pretty sure this lot are Neolithic because of the way they are loaded in.' Nigel recalled how later Stone Age people had a very different attitude to their dead from modern man, leaving their bodies decaying for all to see, and only hiding away the remains in barrows when they were reduced to mouldering skeletons.

'I was kind of hoping to see a hint of something mediaeval,' continued Sydney.

'Changes made by Odo?'

'Exactly.' The next few chambers proved to be similar to the first. It was only when Sydney reached the furthest chamber on the right-hand side that she took a step back and gasped.

There was only one set of bones in this chamber, a full skeleton, which was laid reverently on its back. A heavy gold chain, of lustrous quality, was hung around its neck. At its bottom was hung a resplendent, gold-embedded emerald.

'That jewellery has got to be 12th, maybe 13th century - and the Emerald was Odo's symbol. This is clearly a mediaeval burial…. could it be him?' Nigel automatically spoke in reverential, hushed tones.

'I have a hunch it is,' whispered Sydney.

'Gosh, he really _was_ a pagan, choosing to be buried here, rather than in the splendour of Wintoncaster Cathedral! I can't see the staff, though.'

'Me neither.' Sydney crouched down, running her fingers along the chain, confirming its antiquity and quality. Squinting in the dim light to examine the body more closely, she detected clumps of decaying animal hair among the collapsed shoulder girdle and ribs, indicative of a mediaeval bishop's distinctive fur cape.

Nigel, having retrieved his glasses from a pocket, knelt down beside her. Syd was acutely aware of his warm breath against her neck, and of his outer thigh, brushing against hers as he lent forward to share in her discovery. Focusing, still with an effort, on the remains of the corpse, Sydney noted that the rib cage seemed petite, even for a mediaeval Englishman. She slowly scanned her analytical eyes further down the long-dead body.

Also keenly aware of her closeness, Nigel jumped as a bolt of revelation shot through her body. 'What is it?'

'Nigel, look at the shape of the pelvic bone. It's unmistakable!'

Nigel peered at the skeleton through his spectacles, and then took a sharp intake of breath: '_He's_ a woman!'

'Yes, it looks like _she_ is!'

'How…why… how could a woman become a bishop in mediaeval England? The Catholic Church _still_ doesn't allow women priests!'

'Come on Nigel,' grinned Sydney, invigorated by the discovery, 'even in the most repressive circumstances, women have found ways to gain power. Remember the story of Pope Joan?'

'The mediaeval woman who disguised herself as a man, to forge a career in the church, and who ended up as Pope? Most scholars believe that's a myth! Although the Victorians named a very popular card game after her...I have a vague recollection of playing it some time, but I don't remember when… ' Nigel blinked and shook his head rapidly, dispelling his mental wanderings.

'Myths have their realities,' countered Sydney. 'Actually, there's little evidence about Pope Joan either way. But if this _is_ Odo, we have proof that this mediaeval bishop _was_ a woman. And it does make a lot of sense. She used the power and riches of a position in the mediaeval church, to forward her own religion and beliefs…'

Sydney broke off arbitrarily and froze.

'What is it?' whispered Nigel, reading the look of caution that darted across her face.

'I think you'll find it's me!'

The German accent was unmistakable, and so was the tell-tale click of a pistol trigger: Reiner.

Sydney whirled around with a snarl, to see the rival relic hunter standing in the chamber behind them. He was pointing the gun randomly in their direction, and sneering superciliously.

'Stop threatening us with that thing, Reiner,' snapped Sydney. 'I know you won't shoot me.'

'I might, Sydney. I'll still have some wonderful memories of our time together. You had such passion, such skill…' A smarmy smile undulated Reiner's lips.

Sydney rolled her eyes. 'What do you want? We haven't found the staff…'

'… and how did you escape?' butted in Nigel. He turned to Sydney with a smirk. 'The last I saw him, he was writing in agony on the floor after a run-in with that blonde barmaid!'

'I found a way,' barked Reiner his good humour evaporating. He pointed the gun directly at Nigel. 'Now tell me where the key is, Sydney, or I'll shoot your blabbermouth assistant.'

Sydney cursed silently. 'We don't have the key,' she said flatly.

'You're going to tell me where it is, then,' he growled. 'And you're going to give me that necklace.'

As he spoke, Reiner shifted his aim from Nigel to indicate the necklace. Detecting her rival was momentarily off-guard, Sydney lunged forward, knocking him backwards and swiping the gun from his hand. As the weapon flew across the clay floor, Nigel scrambled after it on his hands and knees.

'Got it!'

Reiner swore loudly in German. 'You really piss me off, _new_ guy!'

Sydney, now sitting on Reiner's chest, pinning him to the floor, smiled in mock surprise. 'You can't beat me, Reiner.' The rival opened his mouth to protest, but Sydney got in first. 'And no, you can't join me either! Nige, can you go and dispose of that stupid 'boys toy' in the nearest bog?'

'Okay.'

Even as Nigel squeezed past them on his way to get rid of the gun, the amused curl of Reiner's lip, and the treacherous glint in his eye, warned Sydney that she was about regret this decision: her gut suddenly told her that Reiner wasn't working alone.

'Nigel…wait!'

An instant later, there came a thud and a soft moan.

With a growl of frustration, Syd launched herself up and hurtled out of the barrow. Nigel had fallen flat on his back onto the ground, and was attempting to prop himself up on one elbow, rubbing his head distractedly. The gun was no longer in his hand.

In the same split second, she sensed the enemy – whoever they were - coming at her from the side.

She swung into a punch. The blow was blocked, and swiftly followed by a karate chop to her stomach. She staggered backwards, jarring her injured ankle, and clutching her middle. Her aghast eyes absorbed the sight of…

'Tess!'

The blonde barmaid, and karate expert, now had the gun pointed straight at her. Sydney knew that she couldn't be as sure as she was with Reiner, that this female nemesis would _not_ shoot her.

'Hello again, Professor Fox!' Tess glanced across at Nigel and added: 'Sorry, angel, but I needed the gun back.'

'Meet my _new_ girl, Sydney.' Reiner emerged from the darkness, looking very smug indeed.

'So that's how you escaped,' began Nigel. 'How much did you offer her?'

He was silenced by Tess, snapping to Reiner: 'I'm not your girl, you pathetic slug. And you've just proven to me that you can't carry out the simplest task, let alone help me find this thing. You're not worth your 40 percent of the cut… what's that you're hiding?'

Reiner looked sheepish, but pulled out the necklace from behind his back. 'I take 60 percent, as agreed,' barked Tess. 'Now!' Here she addressed Sydney. 'The key's still 'in' the pony, right? Where's the pony?'

'I don't know,' replied Syd gruffly.

Tess brandished the gun menacingly. 'Don't mess about. I must have this key!'

Sydney didn't move. 'Why are you joining forces with Reiner? I thought the sisterhood wanted the staff to save the forest, not to cut a deal with some broke grave robber?'

'I am not broke,' whined Reiner. Everyone ignored him.

Tess shrugged. 'I worship the Earth Mother because she empowers me. I realise now that the sisterhood will never dare use the greatest of her powers, and will be too weak to even save themselves. So I'm going it alone! But even the Great One could do with a little help from the other powers in this world: money…and force. So tell me where the pony is!'

'She really doesn't know,' jutted in Nigel, finally clambering to his feet. His pleading tone was underlain by a hint of frustration. 'It was my fault - we lost it. I fell asleep when I was supposed to be watching the bloody thing. He could be anywhere by now.'

Tess smiled lasciviously as she glanced at the object of her affection, and for a split-second she wondered if she could bear to carry out her plans for the next twenty four hours. Nigel looked pale and exhausted, his woolly jumper soggy and wet, and he was still lacking a coat after the previous night's adventures. To top it all, his clothes and skin were flecked with mud.

Sydney's fists clenched, as the blonde's eyes flashed with a venomous desire.

'Ah well,' sighed the barmaid still transfixed by Nigel, 'at least I know where _you_ are now…'

Capitalising on the millisecond of distraction, Sydney's right hook hit home, impacting hard on Tess's jaw. Nearly crumpling under the force, Tess screamed and fired.

Bang!

The shot flew wide, as Sydney had gambled it would. A bullet soared into the darkening sky, sending roosting birds squawking and flapping in all directions. She grabbed for the gun, but Tess was fast: she wrenched her hand free, and retook her potentially fatal aim.

Sydney suppressed a snarl of frustration. 'If you really want the staff found, you'd be better off letting us both go. We're the only ones who will be able to find the pony.'

Tess slowly wiped the blood on her bottom lip, blending it gruesomely with her makeup, 'Giles Appleforth knows which one it is,' she muttered dryly, 'and I can't see it would be hard to make _him_ break. Besides, Nigel is 'the one:' he knows it, and Carolyn knows it. If the pony is found, I will need him later for the ritual.'

Sydney's features turned deadly grave, set like granite: 'What the hell do you mean?'

'So, he didn't tell you about his little history, then? It seems you two have secrets after all! I suppose he didn't tell you about all the fun he had last night either …'

'You lie,' stated Sydney, everything but her lips motionless. Tess narrowed her eyes. Why hadn't her allegations provoked more of a reaction from either of her opponents?

The tiniest scuffle of Nigel's boots in the dry leaves betrayed him. Suddenly dropping her aim, Tess lunged to the right and seized him by the collar. Sydney's assistant squeaked and dropped the small log with which he had surreptitiously intended to whack the barmaid. Before Sydney could act effectively, Tess had pushed Nigel in front of her, and stuck the gun to his head.

'Now, into the barrow! Both of you!'

Sydney suspected she was bluffing, but daren't take any risks. Warily holding her hands up, she backed under the entrance.

The opportunity to strike back never came before Tess shoved Nigel through the door after her. He fell straight into Sydney, nearly knocking them both back down into the dirt.

'Ooof!'

'Sorry.' Nigel backed away quickly from the unintended embrace. 'But it isn't true! I didn't enjoy anything when I wasn't with you. Please believe me...'

'It's okay,' breathed Sydney, although she was desperate to ask him what exactly he _had_ kept concealed from her. 'I do believe you.'

Tess waved the gun at them from the entrance. 'If either of you comes out of the barrow, I'll shoot!' Then she disappeared.

For a moment, Sydney could not work out her plan. There was no way anybody could re-lift that stone flag that she and Nigel had pushed over. She heard a strange grinding noise, and a feminine grunt, and then the awful truth hit her: Tess was trying to destabilise the three stones that held up the entrance to the barrow.

The thought occurred to Nigel at about the same time. 'Sydney, she's mad! If this thing comes down the whole roof could cave in. Just like the tent…'

'… but this place isn't made of canvas! I'll think of something,' hissed Sydney. Her usually confident voice was strained and thin. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

Just as abruptly as Tess had vanished, Reiner appeared in the spot she had vacated, peering in and looking ever so slightly apologetic.

'Sorry, but this necklace is worth a lot of money. And so will that staff be, when we find it… '

Sydney wanted to slap him, but gritted her teeth and managed a sweet smile: 'Yes, I know, you're broke as ever. But surely we can come to some understanding? You need _me_ to find the staff.'

'I need _money_, Sydney!'

She dropped her voice to an undertone: 'Pushing those stones in might bring down the whole barrow. How could you live with that?' She batted her eyelids: 'Remember that igloo? I've never been so warm…' Sydney sensed Nigel bristle at her flirtatious conduct. Reiner smirked again, but appeared unmoved.

Sydney knew her next words were useless, but she thought she'd try them anyway: 'How could you destroy in a moment something that has stood for over 4000 years?'

'But worth nothing!'

'Reiner! You could kill us! '

'No! I don't think so. Tess has other plans…'

The conversation was cut short as Tess ordered Reiner away, and demanded that he 'push…or else!'

There was a terrible grinding noise. Sydney threw herself to the floor, bundling Nigel in front of her. As he turned to hug her, throwing his arms around her waist, she instinctively crouched over him, sheltering his body under hers. 'There's nothing,' thought Sydney, '_nothing_ that can come between us. No lying words, no stupid rival. _Nothing _has changed there…'

There was an agonising crunching, and then an almighty crash. The light was extinguished as the air filled with a thick, dry dust; the stone slabs that held up the roof above them groaned like ancient trees bracing against a gale force wind. Sydney buried her face in Nigel's damp hair, and held her breath. Her heart galloped so wildly she could hear the blood churning in her ears.

The noise was followed by a deafening silence.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	9. Darkness to light

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for the reviews.**

CHAPTER NINE: DARKNESS TO LIGHT

'Nige? Are you okay?'

Sydney expelled a long, wavering breath. Nigel still had his arms wrapped tight around her, his face buried in the curve at the top of her chest, where he must have absorbed every thump of her pounding heart. His answer came only after a moment of silence, in which he was conjecturing the reply.

'Uh huh.' His voice was muffled. 'Um… I can't breathe down here…'

It was then that Sydney realised she was holding him against her in such a vice-like grip that it was doubtful that he could move, even if he wanted to. She reluctantly loosened her embrace. Nigel edged away enough to inhale a large gulp of dusty air, but did not unwrap his own arms from around her waist. It was absolutely pitch black.

'Do you think the roof will hold?' inquired Nigel, his voice hushed as if he was afraid the vibrations might bring down the stone slabs above their head.

'I'm hoping so,' muttered Sydney.

Even when squinting and straining her eyes, she could see absolutely nothing of the state in which the barrow was in, so it was hard to make a genuine judgment of their situation. 'Do you still have the torch?'

She discerned him shift awkwardly. 'It's in here somewhere. I think it's on the floor in the chamber with the skeleton. Do… do you want me to find it?'

'That would be a good start.'

Trying as she was, Sydney _still_ could not make out even a dim shape in front of her eyes. This didn't seem good at all: the fallen stones must have shut out even the tiniest chink to let in starlight or moonlight.

She heard Nigel sigh loudly as he stretched himself away from her and began to crawl off. 'I think this is the direction,' he mumbled. 'We want the compartment with the single skeleton. I don't want to end up in any of those chambers full of bones!'

As he moved away from her, his familiar scent - the musky remnants of yesterday's aftershave and something more warmly, essentially and pleasantly Nigel - was replaced by a cold dankness. Sydney quickly curled onto her hands and knees and shuffled after him. Reaching ahead of her with one hand, she was grateful when it brushed against the corded fabric of the back of his trousers.

'Do you want me to go first?'

'Um, I think I'm okay. By my reckoning, I've just reached the second chamber on the right. Which means that Odo and the torch should be three chambers further up - we're getting there.'

Drifting her hand away, Sydney continued to crawl forward, but suddenly perceived something was wrong. She stopped abruptly, seconds before she collided with Nigel's backside. Nigel had stopped his progress.

'What is it? Have you reached the last chamber?'

'No…'

'What is it then?'

'You never thought… that I enjoyed it? Did you? I mean, last night, with all those girls.'

'No,' said Sydney honestly. 'The general impression I got was that it was a nightmare! But I was kind of curious about all this 'the one' business. What the heck was that about?'

'Oh…that. It's all rubbish really.' Still poised halfway on his journey, he related the story of Carolyn's involvement in his childhood encounter with the pony, and the assumptions that had been made by her 'girls' and Valerie.

After he finished, Sydney was thoughtful for a moment: 'Do you think there's anything in it?'

'NO!' spluttered Nigel, and began shuffling forward again. 'Of course not! It's all utter rubbish!'

'Probably,' muttered Sydney. Nigel read the lack of conviction in Sydney's voice, and shuddered silently. Sydney, on the other hand, felt strangely good about the thought that Nigel was somehow special - in ways even other than she thought he was special. 'Beautiful in mind and body,' she mused to herself, reflecting on the prayer Carolyn had said over 11 year-old Nigel. 'She got that right! I wonder if the Earth Mother really does have plans for him?'

'I think this is it.'

Sydney speculations were interrupted as Nigel reached what he thought was the final chamber. She edged her way alongside him. 'Can you feel it? The torch?'

'I haven't quite started searching yet,' admitted Nigel. 'I hope I've counted the chambers right. One wrong move and we could drown under an avalanche of bones!' Nigel gulped, picturing a torrent of fleshless limbs, ribs and eyeless skulls pouring forth upon them like a flood. 'Do you think we'd better go back and count again?'

'Are you going to do this or am I?'

Nigel's lips formed speculatively around the word 'you?' but he checked himself, recalling the look of pride and pleasure on Sydney's face when he put up the tent and invited her in, like a princess to her newly built castle.

He took a deep breath - 'No, I'm going in,' - and falteringly edged forward into the darkness, cringing in anticipation of the crunch of crushing bones that never came.

……………………………

Turning on the torch didn't improve their situation much. The stone that Tess and Reiner had pushed over had tumbled sideways, setting its sister stone skew-whiff. The megalithic propped across the top had crashed down on the others, and seemed to be the most likely to budge. Nevertheless, after ten minutes of heaving and puffing on Sydney and Nigel's part, it wouldn't give an inch.

Then the torch flickered and went out.

'Damn,' cursed Syd. 'They were my spares. Do you have any new batteries?'

If it hadn't been so dark again, Sydney would have seen the first inkling of hopeless mortification drift across Nigel's countenance: 'Um, I did, but I'm afraid they were my rucksack when it was stolen. Heaven knows where they are now!'

'That Giles is going to pay… and that Mayor…and Tess and Reiner!'

Nigel could hear her shifting from side to side on her feet, itching to do something about their situation. His fear was rising, however, that they were running out of things to do.

'Sydney,' he said softly. 'Was there any gap in the fallen stones… for the air to get through?'

'Not enough for light to get in,' admitted Sydney. 'But I did notice a tiny hole bored in one of the ceiling slabs that might act as some sort of vent. We ought to clear the dust out of it, if we can find it again in the dark. Anyway, I'm sure there'll be air in here for ages yet. Don't worry, we'll get out of this.'

As she spoke, Nigel sought out a solid section of the wall inside the barrow, which didn't give way to a pile of bones, and slipped down against it until he was sitting on the cold floor.

'Before we found this barrow, nobody had even noticed it since Odo in the 13th Century. Prior to that, it lay undisturbed for thousands of years. We've got no food, one bottle of water and a dubious amount of air. How many hundreds of years will it be before we'll be found? My God!' The tone of alarm in Nigel's voice swelled as a terrible image shot into his brain: 'At some point in the future, they'll find our skeletons lying here, with all the others, indistinguishable - apart from by carbon dating of course - from the crumbling bones of our Neolithic forebears!'

'Everything will be all right,' assured Sydney, her calm words belying a mind racing with adrenalin. She fumbled forward in the dark towards where he had settled; his hand, drawn only by instinct, caught hers and guided her as she sank down next to him. 'I'm working on a plan to get us out of here, right now.'

'Lovely,' mumbled Nigel, inscrutably. He did not relinquish her fingers, and she let him draw them across into his lap, where he wrapped both of his warm hands around hers.

'Sydney…if we don't get out of this…'

Nigel broke off, fumbling for the right words, as Sydney's heart gave a little leap. She should have seen this coming: it was one of Nigel's 'we're going to die' speeches.

He took a deep breath. 'We've been through a lot together, you and I,' he began, 'We've faced death many times…and I know you've always got us through it…'

Sydney nearly interrupted in order to remind him that she _would_ get them out of it this time, but she couldn't quite bring herself to. This time, she found she _wanted_ to hear what he had to say.

'I know things have changed a little between us lately,' continued Nigel, 'But, just in case we _don't_ get out of this, I just wanted to say that…that…nothing has changed. Not for me, anyway, I still love you. Not in a sexy, lustful way - not that that's a bad way to love anyone, and I can't say that I _don't _love you in that way, if you don't mind me doing so…' Nigel swallowed his fluster and got back on track. 'But I love and respect you greatly, as a scholar…as a person… and as a friend…my _best_ friend'

His stomach clenched in anticipation as he waited for her reply. Was she going to laugh his words off again, dismiss them as stress-induced ravings, like she so often did?

Sydney's tongue flicked over her lips, as the last remnants of an escape plan evaporated from her mind, replaced by more pressing issues. Suddenly, even more than usual, she felt like the apathetic masculine figure in their relationship. Here was Nigel - gorgeous, sweet, sensitive Nigel - pouring out his heart to her, telling her he loved her on every level that it was possible for a human creature to love another, and yet she was in a quandary as to how to respond.

What _did_ she feel for him? Friendship? Yes, of course. She always had done. Professional respect? Naturally. He was by far the best assistant she ever had. Sexual attraction? Yes, that was not entirely new either, despite her playful delectation for men of six-foot four, with shoulders broader than Hercules, brains the size of an Egyptian scarab beetle, and all the emotion of a marble statue of Zeus. How could she not have noticed Nigel's flawless profile, and the brooding aspect of his eyes, which could surely melt the heart of Medusa. Neither had she missed the matter that he lacked a heightened Narcissus complex, despite being as beautiful as Apollo himself? But did all of this, even when coupled with her recent 'urges,' add up to love? Real, true, from here to eternity, ying to my yang, east to my west, heart to my soul, love?

Her meditations were shattered by his anxious plea: 'Sydney…?'

Feeling his palms grow sweaty, she realised these seconds of silence must be torturing him. She needed an answer. As the apocalyptic notion that they really _might_ die here, in the dark, together, flashed across her mind, she was overcome by an unexpected tranquillity. It was then that she realised that the elusive answer had been within her all along.

She reached over her other hand, so it sat on top of his: 'Nigel,' she began slowly. 'Did you read the US archaeological newsletter last month?'

'Um…yes. I always keep up-to-date with the journals. You know that.' Syd could read his bewilderment, but she pressed on. 'Did you see that story about those Neolithic skeletons, the two they found in Mantua, Italy…'

'I do recall that,' said Nigel, the spark of recognition in his voice betraying more than pride at his extensive knowledge: On the eve of Valentine's Day, archaeologists working on a building site in the Italian city, had uncovered two later Stone Age skeletons, one young male, one young female. Their bodies were locked together, as the young lovers had died, caught in an eternal embrace.

'If I have to die,' whispered Sydney, 'here and now, or in 60 years time, that's how I'd like to go. And when they find our skeletons in 5000 years time, I hope they won't separate us, like the archaeologist didn't separate those two lovers…'

'_Us_…' Nigel nearly choked on the word, as tears pricked in the back of his eyes.

'Yes…._us_…' Her arms tentatively slipped around him. 'I love you too, Nigel… I'm sorry I find it so hard to say… I'm used to…'

'Going with the flow?' She could sense his smile, through the words muttered in her ear. He drifted his arms around her shoulders.

'Or maybe _not_ going with it,' she admitted, squeezing him affectionately, thinking how happily accustomed she had become to the feel of his squidgy, cuddly and slightly damp jumper. 'At least as far as you're concerned. I guess it has taken a long time for everything to make sense.'

'It doesn't matter, Sydney… I love you, come what may, whatever you feel, surely, you knew that?'

'I know….I know…huh?'

Sydney half jumped, half shivered with delight as Nigel traced a finger along the line of her jaw. She moistened her lips, and his thumb gently touched the end of her nose, brushed her mouth and drifted onto her cheek.

'Dimples,' he whispered, caressing the endearing little niches as he pictured them in his minds-eye. 'I'm sorry…but I wanted to see if you were smiling…'

The lump in her throat, and the unfamiliar depth of her emotions, nearly choked her. 'Don't be sorry…never be sorry…just…go with…the…'

The darkness had vanished, and words became superfluous. Sydney could feel his ardour, his intensity, and she could no longer resist. Moving but inches, she captured his lips with hers, plunging into a long, needful kiss. As his hand gently cupped the back of her neck - caressing her, pulling her ever closer - a breeze the force of a hurricane rushed through her senses, defying the stillness of the air.

'Nigel…' his name caught in her throat, and sounded as a mere, pleasured sigh. No man – whether six-foot-four or five-foot-two - had ever kissed her like that! But then no other man loved her like he did… or she him. Then she sensed him grow still, hesitate: Nigel was ever the gentleman.

'Don't stop,' she whispered, playfulness disguising the depth of her desire. 'We may have 5000 years, but there's no point wasting time…' She sincerely wished his fingers, with their liquid-light touch, would continue the descent they had started through her loose, flowing hair.

They didn't return just yet: 'It's not that this is… rather fast,' began Nigel, his words breathless. 'It's just that I suddenly remembered that we are surrounded by the skeletons of dozens - maybe hundreds - of people. It just doesn't seem right!'

She seized him by his hair and pulled him back for another kiss; he moaned, in a moment of half-resistance, and then returned it, with all the passion of the first. As disturbing thoughts of accusingly staring, black eye-sockets disappeared, his fingers drifted back to their previous pursuits, spiralling down her curves, sending tiny, fizzing lightning-bolts down her spine.

'Those old bones have seen nothing but darkness for centuries,' husked Sydney, now reluctant to waste precious moments on speech. 'Isn't it time they saw some stars?'

……………………………………………………

'Nigel…Nigel wake up!' '

'Mmmm?' Nigel's eyes flew open, but to no avail. It was still utterly black and, for a tremulous instant, he hadn't a clue where he was. He sensed Sydney lying by his side, her hand rubbing in gentle circles against his bare shoulder, her other arm draped somewhere near his waist. His memories then cascaded back, and he vacantly wondered how life could be so dreamlike, so sweet and so bitter.

Sydney was now sitting, bolt upright. He heard her scuffle about, fixing her clothes. 'We need to get moving - I hear voices outside.' She raised a shout: 'Hey! We're in here!'

Nigel's wits were now returning quickly: 'In here!!!!!!' he echoed. 'Heeeeeelp!!'

There was no immediate answer. 'What if it's Tess and Reiner come back?' he hissed.

'At least they might unblock the entrance. I somehow doubted that Tess would have left _you_ to rot… '

'I wish she would,' lamented Nigel, 'I'd rather spend the rest of eternity in here with you, than face her again!'

Before Sydney could respond, a reply finally came, in a deep, instantly recognisable voice: 'Professor Fox? Is that you?'

'Giles!' yelled Sydney. 'We're in here! Tess pushed down the ancient stones. We can't move them from this side. You might need to get help!'

Both Sydney and Nigel were slightly surprised when the reply came in an authoritative female voice: 'The outside of the top stone is wedged against the tree trunk. If we can move that, it should budge.'

'Great!' responded Sydney, slightly perplexed. 'And who are you?'

'It's Carolyn,' whispered Nigel, 'the woman I told you about. The one who saved me before - twice!'

The voice from without confirmed this, and then continued with its instructions: 'Now, you two push from the inside, we'll sort things out here. Giles! Don't put your foot there, you silly boy, the stone will fall upon it… all together now, everyone…PUSH!'

……………………………………….

It took some effort but, in about ten minutes, Sydney and Nigel were freed from the place they had feared would become their premature tomb, and where their souls had been laid bare.

There was no blinding sunlight to greet them as they finally returned to the world, but even the pale dawn glow caused Sydney to shield her eyes as she clambered over the now fallen rocks, and she stumbled a little. Her hand clasped Nigel's, as he reached to steady her, having gone ahead; she detained it long enough to brush her thumb lovingly over his palm and wrist.

'Thanks Nige,' she smiled.

'It's a pleasure.' A smile flickered on his lips also, although his gaze purveyed a deep, imploring sincerity.

Sydney ran her grateful eyes over him, from head to toe. 'Did he feel or look any different,' she thought, 'now that our last secrets have been shattered?' It was with a strange relief that she realised he did not. He was still Nigel. He also had his jumper on inside out and back to front, and she took great pleasure in unnecessarily helping him strip it off and put it back on again, and then in tucking in the label at the back.

Carolyn and Giles, on the other hand, were both impatiently enraptured by what now seemed of secondary importance to Sydney and Nigel: the barrow!

'Did you find the staff?' entreated Giles, springing up and down on the balls of his massive feet. Nigel shook his head.

'What about Odo?' demanded Carolyn. 'Was she inside?'

The inherent knowledge betrayed by the second question caused Sydney to rip her mind back to the hunt: 'Yeah, we found her skeleton. You _knew_ that Odo was a woman?'

'A woman!' spluttered Giles. 'A woman was a bishop in the mediaeval church? Saints alive!'

As he spoke, Carolyn seized both of Sydney's hands, evidently overjoyed. 'I always knew she was a woman, Sydney! I had no evidence, but from everything I read about her… I knew. Somehow, I knew. You understand me, don't you? Sometimes, we women just know things. It's about faith, I suppose.'

'I do understand,' replied Sydney. She instinctively liked the elder woman, even if she did not yet trust her. 'Before we start revolutionising the gender history of the mediaeval church, though, there's a few questions I want answered…'

Indeed, Carolyn - and Giles - both had a lot of explaining to do! It turned out that the museum curator had only deserted Stewie because he spotted an approaching 'sister' - Tess, he thought - with a man. He had run off into the forest, fearing being seized like Nigel and Henchard, and then promptly got lost, only to be discovered by Carolyn. The 'sisterhood' elder had been in search of Sydney and Nigel, to warn them that Reiner had escaped, apparently in league with Tess, who had seemingly deserted the sisterhood. After reassuring Giles that she was no threat to him, they had then joined forces, and shared knowledge, in order to find the barrow.

'So I'm innocent,' protested Giles.

'I believe you,' growled Sydney, 'But if you desert us again, you'll regret it.' She turned to Carolyn: 'What about you and your 'sisters'? There are rules in this country against kidnap, aren't there?'

'You're a passionate woman, Sydney Fox,' replied Carolyn, calmly. 'Wouldn't you do anything – anything - to save a place you love?'

'It's the people I love that mean the most to me,' said Sydney, matter-of-factly. 'I can see why you had to stop Henchard and Reiner – though I question your methods - but why take Nigel?'

'That wasn't my doing,' sighed Carolyn, brushing off a speck of the plentiful grime that now clung to her long, flowing skirt. 'I would have prevented it, had I known. Tess took the initiative there.' Glancing at Nigel, she added: 'and I think the others just got a little carried away. As you know only too well, your assistant is a very attractive man.'

'Yeah, I know,' husked Syd, suppressing a smirk as Nigel muttered and blushed.

'I've never trusted Tess,' admitted Carolyn. 'She's developed some sort of obsession with Nigel, and him being 'the one,' and now she's gone AWOL! It is she and that German relic hunter that we ought to be looking for now.'

'You're right,' conceded Sydney. 'They've already taken a precious necklace from the barrow. If Reiner gets his hands on the staff, he will just sell them both to the highest bidder, and there's no knowing what that blonde bimbo will do…'

'Tess isn't a bimbo. I wish she were!' said Carolyn regretfully. 'She's a sharp woman, and has long been interested in the dark side of Earth Mother worship… I've now got a nasty feeling she believes that Odo actually performed human sacrifice to the Earth Mother!'

'I can well believe that,' shuddered Nigel.

'She's also a black belt in karate,' added Carolyn.

'Yeah, I noticed,' mumbled Sydney, remembering her bruises. 'Okay, here's the plan. We've got to find that pony before Tess and Giles do. Chances are that Stewie's not far from the field by the pub. I suggest we head back there, and start a search. Anybody got a clue which way it is?'

Carolyn, although she had never found the barrow before, had an excellent feel for the geography of the forest, and plunged confidently off into the trees.

As Sydney was on the verge of following, however, Nigel wrapped a tentative hand around her arm. She spun back towards him, quick enough to spy him glancing affectionately back at the barrow, before turning to her: 'You did mean it, didn't you? What you said… about the skeletons, and about us. And then what happened…it wasn't just because you were worried we might rot in there?'

'Come on Nige, you know I did. Besides, I never thought we were going to die,' said Sydney, almost telling the truth. 'Everything always does turn out all right, doesn't it? So, yes. I meant every word.' A smile dimpled her cheeks. 'It would have been a hell of a shame to spend the rest of eternity with you in the dark. I'm kind of fond of _looking_ at you.'

Nigel beamed at her; it was a grin she knew intimately well, that had an increasing ability to ignite her deepest passions. 'Thank you,' he answered, and then paused, his smile growing broader. 'I don't think I'd have looked good after the first thousand years, anyway, and I really wanted to see _you _again. I don't know why, I just couldn't stop thinking about those dimples.' He lifted his fingers to touch them, now displayed to their full adorability: Sydney's smile radiantly matched his, tinged with a pleasant surprise at his forwardness, here in broad daylight. Then again, she had just declared her eternal love for him…

She gently shooed his fingers away. 'Come on, Nige. We've got work to do. Although, when we're through with this thing, the next place I want to be trapped with _you _is the bathroom…'

…………………………………….

After several hours of mooching around in the forest near to the inn, it occurred to Sydney that searching for a single pony - or, indeed, a pony-digested key - in what could be up to fifty square miles of forest, was on a par with the most labourious relic hunt she had ever been on, and somewhat less fun. It didn't help that the forest was full of similar such ponies, each of which raised their hopes when spotted from a distance.

All the same, Sydney and Nigel were convinced they would know 'that bloody pony' when they saw him up close. All of the others had a docile, nigh-bovine glaze on their mud-brown, long lashed eyes. Even Sydney had now decided that she would recognise Stewie, not just from his distinctive appearance, but from the lively glint of the devil, dancing within his beady, black orbs.

Around midday, Nigel wandered over to Sydney, looking thoroughly fed up. 'This is hopeless. We'll never find this ruddy key. Besides I'm sick of picking through the…the 'you know.' If I have to excavate another pile, I think I'll be physically ill!'

Sydney cringed sympathetically. 'We've got to stick at it. Look, Carolyn's gone to the pub to grab us some sandwiches. You'll feel better when you've had something to eat.'

'Too right I will!' grumbled Nigel. 'I'm going to find a stream to wash my hands.'

Just then, Giles lumbered over looking rather pleased with himself. 'Tell me you've found something!' pleaded Nigel, clenching his fists impatiently.

'Um, no,' admitted the curator. 'But I _have_ had an idea. I've got a metal detector back at the museum. It will only take the hour to drive back and get it. And then we can check every pile of poo in the forest for the key, without even getting our hands dirty!'

'Great idea!' ejaculated Sydney. 'Nigel and I will walk you back to your car - just in case Tess and Reiner are hanging around.'

'The man's a genius!' exclaimed Nigel, genuinely impressed. 'And while we're walking past the pub, I think I might just order some chips to go with those sandwiches…'

………………………..

Nigel's dreams of a slap up meal and a pint were dashed when Sydney insisted that they stuck with the take-away, and returned to the forest immediately. His spirits dwindled further when, several hours later, Giles still had not returned, and Sydney insisted they got 'interactive' with the dung again.

In more than a slight huff, Nigel offered to check out the field immediately by the Flighty Filly Inn. He could drink in its homely sights and sounds, even if he couldn't partake in its pleasures! He also quietly hoped a kindly passer-by might agree to bring him out those chips!

Sydney agreed, not least because she was keen to have a quiet word with Carolyn. Once alone in the forest, she asked her burning question:

'So let's get this straight. This ritual of yours _doesn't_ involve the sacrifice of cute young guys.'

'Not at all, dear! Odo believed that an offering of a husband should be made to the Earth Mother each year on the first day of spring. So the 'sisters' all join as one, symbolic of the Earth Mother and, err, take a husband. I suppose that was a liberal dose of flower power in our version of it - Valerie and I interpreted the mediaeval text that way when we were at university – but it's all rather jolly!'

'Jolly?' echoed Sydney incredulously. 'I'm not sure what Tess has in mind is 'jolly'…'

Further inquiries were interrupted by two, simultaneous shouts.

'Syd - there's a grey pony on the horizon that looks just like Stewie!'

'Professor Fox, 'that bloody pony' has been sighted in the centre of the village!'

Nigel and Giles both ran up, breathless, from opposite directions. 'Oh,' panted Nigel, registering the other man's presence and words. 'There can't be two of him...thank God.'

'I've been asking around,' said Giles. 'Some girls told me an angry-looking grey pony was wandering in the Market Square.'

'The one I saw looked pretty much like him, too. What's our first move, Sydney?'

'We're going to act quickly before he vanishes again! You and Giles head back to the village. Carolyn and I will check on the ponies in the field, and be right behind…'

'Fine.' Nigel motioned at Giles with his head. 'Let's go…'

……………………

An eerie tranquillity hung in the air as Nigel and Giles passed up towards the little Market Square, which lay at the centre of the village. There was absolutely nobody about: no flat-capped farmer on his way to the pub, no cycle-bound tourists, and not even one of the omnipresent, shaggy, long nosed ponies. The curtains of the terraced cottages, which now lined the road, were all tightly shut.

'It's, um, rather quiet around here, isn't it?' ventured Nigel.

'Not really,' gushed Giles, 'Little Hintock is in the middle of nowhere!'

'Come off it, Giles, this is England! Over fifty million inhabitants in just 50,000 square miles? It's _never_ this quiet, not in a village, anyway.'

Giles shrugged. 'Maybe there was a bad weather forecast? Everybody's stayed at home.'

Nigel momentarily froze, as a terrible thought struck him. He glanced nervously at his watch: 'Do you make it 5 p.m.?'

Giles checked his own timepiece: 'Yes! Goodness, is that the time already?'

'Yes,' said Nigel slowly. 'And it's the eve of the first day of spring. Have you any idea what time that… Bunny Chase starts?

Fear flashed across Giles's face, reflecting Nigel's own misgivings, and the museum creator suddenly wondered if the group of pretty girls, who'd offered him the information about the pony, had ulterior motives.

'It can't be here,' said Giles hopefully. 'They'd be more people around. We better take care though. We wouldn't want to get 'embroiled,' and all that.'

'Absolutely not!' said Nigel firmly. 'Let's be careful. I'm sure Sydney will be here in a minute, and then there'll be nothing to worry about.'

They cautiously rounded the end of the lane and came to a pause at the edge of the town square, as a very slow clock over the village bakery struck quarter to five. Beyond the tinny chimes, the square had an initial air of emptiness: there were certainly no ponies about. Despite the voiceless silence however, the square certainly wasn't the devoid of people. Nigel took a step back and gasped.

Clustered on the other side of the square, were around thirty or forty girls. Some of them were wearing white robes, but none of them had their hoods drawn up; others were clad in fashionable mini dresses and tight leggings, dolled up and ready for a night on the town. As Giles and Nigel gawped in shock, there came a collective squeal:

'Men!'

'Look - two of them!'

The group began advancing towards them, as Giles and Nigel backed nervously away, wondering why their legs had not yet mustered the will to scarper.

'Oh, one of them is that boring museum guy from Wintoncaster,' came a derogatory moan.

'But the other ones that deadly cute relic hunter!' rejoindered a far more joyful chirp.

'He's 'the one'!'

'Have you come to chase us, Nigel?'

'Um…no!' squeaked Nigel, the sudden grip of panic causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. 'We're looking for a pony, but he's not here, so I'm afraid we are…just going….'

By the time he had uttered the final words, Nigel had turned on his heels and was tearing back up the street as fast as his legs would carry him. Giles was pounding and puffing after him like a hunted bear, and behind him followed the collective clatter of dozens of pairs of high heels and sandals, accompanied by a symphony of squeals, and cries of malevolent delight.

Notching his speed up to maximum - surely enough to put daylight between him and the others? - Nigel saved just another breath to yell at the top of his voice: 'SYDNEY!!!!!'

…………………………………

Sydney and Carolyn were just climbing over the style into the field behind the pub, having had no luck finding Stewie, when strange things began to happen.

Firstly, a small figure darted out from the pub car park, making a beeline for the forest at a speed which surely would have broken the four-minute mile.

'Nigel? Nigel! Where are you going?'

Sydney was about to start towards him when she was distracted by a second, much larger form, which lumbered into the field, and then collapsed to his knees raising his hands in surrender. At that moment, the field was flooded with what seemed like hundreds of women. A couple stopped by Giles, and gathered him in their arms, smothering him with pats and kisses, rather pleased with their find.

Most, however, were evidently after the greater prize, and sped straight past the fallen museum man. They wanted nothing less than the lovely Nigel: 'the one!'

'My, that boy can run!' exclaimed Carolyn, her voice sounding from some distance behind the now sprinting Sydney.

'He can when he has too! Are you _quite_ sure that none of them, apart from Tess, might be into human sacrifice?' called Sydney, back over her shoulder.

'I don't think so, dear,' sighed Carolyn, hoisting up her now very muddy long skirt as she tripped down the field. 'But I'm starting to feel a little out of touch with 21st-century girls and their ways!'

Syd was just conjecturing whether to try and gain on Nigel, or to concentrate on cutting the girls off at the pass, when things took a turn for the sinister. A white van screeched through the pub car-park, and straight into the field, sending 'sisters' screaming and flying in all directions.

'Tess!' hissed Sydney under her breath. 'I've got to reach Nigel before that bitch does! She was relieved to observe that Nigel had nearly reached the forest. Although Tess was gaining on him fast, the van could never follow him in there.

As Nigel plunged into the trees, the van juddered to a halt. The barmaid, dressed in a practical tracksuit and trainers under her robes, leapt out, all the while barking instructions to somebody – Reiner? - inside the vehicle. She then charged off after Nigel, as several of the 'sisters' overtook her, hoping to be first to reach their prey.

Despite the growing twinge in her ankle, Sydney hit the tree-line around the same time as the bulk of the 'sisters', but a little further up the field.

'Hold on in there, Nigel!' she yelled into the woodland. 'I'm coming!'

Still seeking a better plan, then, Sydney joined the other four dozen females - including a potential homicidal maniac - on her assistants' tail. Like each of them, she desperately hoped that _she_ would be the one to catch Nigel first!

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**

**If anybody is interested, the skeletons discovered in Mantua were real, and were reported on Yahoo! News on Valentine's Day. **


	10. Nature raw in tooth and claw

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thank you for those reviews. If you're enjoying the story, or have any suggestions, please, please let me know. I _really _love reviews. **

CHAPTER TEN: NATURE RAW IN TOOTH AND CLAW

Nigel hurtled into the forest, slipping and sliding on the increasingly boggy ground, and caring little for the delicate shoots and petals of the wildflowers he trampled under his feet. He ran as if the devil herself was on his trail - or the devil incarnate: Tess. The sight of her alone had nearly felled Nigel with panic, when he'd glanced back over his shoulder to see her leaping out of the van. He _hadn't _seen Sydney…where was Sydney?

He knew he couldn't keep this place up forever: his breath was increasingly ragged, and the pain of a stitch was beginning to knot his stomach. What's more, his boots were starting to rub. 'Still,' his optimistic side told himself, 'you've got a few more kilometres in you yet, Bailey! Or you need somewhere good to hide…oomph!'

The world swerved upwards as his toe jammed against the wandering root of a tree. Nigel slammed forward onto his hands and knees in the dirt, liquefied mud flying at all angles, and into his clothes, face and hair. He cringed sharply, not just at the shock and the pain in his bruised knees, but at the incriminatingly loud 'squidge' that sounded as he landed. A crow squawked and flew away, his flapping wings resonating louder than a helicopter.

Nigel drooped his head forward a moment, damp hair hanging down over his tightly shut eyes. It was then that he heard the voices: all female, all strangely alluring, they echoed around the woodland in a thousand different hues and tones, falling upon his ears like a dreadful, entrancing music. Each voice called but a single word.

'Nigel!' 'Nigel!' 'Nigel…'

His eyes snapped open. He had to move fast to save himself, but the fall, and the omnipresent cries, had sapped him of his desire to run. Spying a dense rhododendron bush not a metre off, he thanked God for invasive species, and crawled under its unwelcomingly twiggy mass of leaves and branches.

Resting on his haunches, Nigel curled his arms and legs around himself, making his body into as small a parcel as possible. Feeling very much like a hunted rabbit, who was fearfully overhearing the yap of the hounds and the wail of the horn, Nigel listened to the haunting calls: 'Nigel…Nigel….Nigel…!'

A distant cry among the many, however, caught his ears and made his heart lurch. Even without the American accent, he would have known that voice from the rest: Sydney! She was there, in the hunt, as ever.

Nigel was desperate to answer her - but that would give away his whereabouts to everybody else as well! He racked his brains for a method to contact her alone, and ended up vaguely wishing he knew how to hoot like an owl, just as children in mid 20th-century adventure novels always did. But, even if he could, he mused, without foreknowledge of the code, how would Sydney know it was him, not a real owl? He might prove to be very _good_ at owl impressions!

Deciding he must be bordering on the delirious, Nigel expelled a long, shuddering sigh and backed further into the bush. Sydney was the best - she'd find him first.

Nigel's comforting thoughts were shattered by the unmistakable shuffle of movement - of feet? - close at hand. His stomach twisted with fear and anticipation - was it Sydney? Tess? Did they know he was here?

'Sssschwamp!'

As a sound somewhere between a slurp and a tear resounded in his ears, a large clump of the sheltering bush was ripped away. His hiding place partially uncovered, Nigel lifted a disconsolate gaze to his cruel discoverer: the familiar grey, pointed eared, wispy bearded, long-nosed aspect of Stewie!

'Go away!' hissed Nigel, pressing himself back as far as he could into the stabbing branches, and lifting a hand to shield his face as twigs sprung dangerously close to his eyes. 'Bloody pony!'

The pony snorted and whinnied, exhaling with a force akin to an engine letting off steam.

'Ugh!'

Stewie's breath smelt like well-rotted manure. Little perturbed by the smaller creatures' presence, and ignoring his pleas, Stewie took a larger bite than before, and then shuffled backwards with the best part of the front of the bush drooling limply from his chops.

'Great!' squeaked Nigel, 'bloody marvellous!' The hidey-hole was now completely exposed. He took a deep breath, and tried to think calmly about what to do next. 'At least I know where _you _are now,' he thought grimly, wondering if he'd survive long enough to find out what the key - possibly still inside the beast ahead of him - actually did! His hopes lifted slightly, though, as he realised that the multitudinous cries of his name were now muffled, floating through the air from a greater distance than a few minutes prior.

Stewie turned away, characteristically nonchalant, embroiling himself in the formidable task of swallowing half the forest. Nigel, ever vigilant of the kicking potential of the pony's back legs, crawled forward and rose shakily to his feet.

Thinking positively, he whispered to the pony: 'Now, you just stay here! I'm going to find Sydney…aaaaargh!'

The hand came from nowhere, and seized Nigel by the collar. His wide eyes fell upon the horrific sight of scarlet-lipped Tess, emerging from the undergrowth in front of him. As Reiner executed one of his favourite tricks - thumping Sydney's assistant with his pistol butt - a thudding pain exploded at the back of Nigel's head.

Even as he cursed the pony that had betrayed him, Nigel's world went black…

………………………….

Sydney wove her way through the trees and bushes, feeling clumsy and less deft than usual – her sore ankle was holding up well, but taking the edge off her usual agility and speed.

'Nigel!'

She hollered his name for what seemed like the hundredth time, knowing he would never answer. Nevertheless, she hoped it might orientate him towards her. Nigel's now well-tested stamina would surely mean he could outrun the majority of the girls, whose cries were increasingly falling by the wayside. But what if he'd run in completely the opposite direction? Or had chosen to hide in a bush? He could be anywhere by now… or Tess could have found him first…

'Nigel! Nigel!' Gritting her teeth and refusing to think the worst, Sydney gingerly forged the dirty brown torrent of a little forest stream and continued with the hunt.

Fraught moments flowed into anxious hours, and the sky above her faded from metallic grey into a dirty, cloudy blackness. The distant voices melted to nothingness; all Sydney heard now was the occasional rapid whirring of the wings of a bat, or the scuffle of a night rodent in the undergrowth. Finally halting, she leant back against a tree, her head gratefully resting against the rough bark: 'what now, Sydney?'

As her mind raced, she admitted to herself she was lost, and that Nigel could be miles away, scared and alone, or worse. Her breath hitched in her throat as she realised that the quick flick of a mad woman's blade could end the life that meant so much to her, and that she had only just come to admit - both to him and to her heart - that she could no longer live without.

Just then, her sharp ears detected a distant hail.

'Sydney!'

Silence. The cry came again.

'Professor Fox?'

Sydney's lurching spirits sank. It was a female voice, but a familiar one: Carolyn.

Her mind calculated quickly. Nigel could be anywhere, but the best thing for her to do now would be to reach the barrow by dawn, to prevent any possibility of Tess carrying out her sordid ritual at the sacred site. Carolyn knew the forest better than anyone: she was certainly the best person to help Sydney find what she needed.

Sydney yelled her reply: 'Carolyn! Over here!' She started towards the voice, her determination to save Nigel, for now at least, overcoming the aching dread of his loss.

………………………………………

As Nigel juddered into the realm of semi-consciousness, he became convinced that a plump, hard-hoofed pony was doing a tap dance on the back of his head. From what other source could that pounding pain come? The memory of Tess's laughing lips and peroxide curls then jolted through his body like a spasm. Was that really the last thing he'd seen, or was it all part of the nightmare? But then, why was this bed so rough and hard?

The cold night breeze licked through his hair, although a glowing, heat caressed and warmed one side of his face. A campfire? Clinging to the vague hope that he was lying in a particularly uncomfortable tent, with Sydney by his side, Nigel pried one eye open, and attempted to roll over.

It was then he realised he couldn't move. Something was tied fast amount his middle – a strap? a rope? - it was so dark he couldn't tell. Attempting to move his hands down to investigate proved futile: they were secured tightly to something above his head. Trying to kick demonstrated that his legs were equally hampered. From the firm, but slightly jagged surface that he felt behind his neck, Nigel guessed he was bound to a large, fallen tree trunk.

Suppressing a gasp of horror, Nigel darted his eyes in the direction of a flickering campfire. In the effervescent light, he could see the now partially collapsed dolmen that marked the mouth of the barrow. In front of it, her chin rested in her hand, glowering resolutely into the flames, was Tess. Hovering at her shoulder, and mumbling discontentedly, was Reiner. The German relic hunter was holding a short lead, no longer than that on which one would tether a large dog. On the end of it, drooping his head, was a sleepy looking pony: Stewie.

They were back at the barrow! Although alarm jabbed in his middle as he remembered all too well what Tess intended to do here, Nigel's hope glimmered at the thought that Sydney would surely think to come here by dawn. Moreover, Tess and Reiner did not seem to have noticed he was awake.

Nigel held his breath, not even taking advantage of the narrow parameters of movement that his bonds allowed him. In attempting to not draw attention to himself, he conjectured he might delay the inevitable long enough to be rescued. Squeezing his eyes shut again, Nigel bit back the desire to scream for help and, despite his ardent desire to hear and see nothing more, listened intently.

It soon became evident from his grumbling that Kurt Reiner was not happy. Not only was he fed up with dragging around that 'bloody pony,' he had serious reservations, if not scruples, about the ritual itself.

'I don't see why it has to involve all this…_offering_,' he barked, his voice disclosing a hint of a whine. 'It won't make the staff worth any more money!'

The reply was husky and ominous, its aggression belying its gentle, West Country accent: 'Power is money - money is power. The ritual will bring me power, and power will bring me more money than can fill Cheddar Gorge!'

'I don't see how,' grumbled Tess's accomplice. 'And I have no desire to flee this country with a murder rap on my head. Besides, Sydney Fox would never…never…'

'So you're scared Sydney Fox would never sleep with you again if you slaughter her sexy little assistant in cold blood? Oh, come on Reiner! There are other women! I don't see what's so special about that Fox woman, anyway. What has she got that I haven't?'

Nigel's blood simultaneously froze and boiled as he heard the terrible plans for his fate confirmed, and his beloved Sydney denigrated. Struggling to master his own emotions, it struck him that here was an opportunity: Reiner was wavering, and he, Nigel, wasn't without bargaining power…

'Don't listen to her, Reiner!' he ventured, his voice croaky with disuse and tiredness. 'Syd's got plenty that _she_ hasn't got, and you know for a fact that if you carry this…this…this _thing_ through, she'll hunt you down and find you, no matter where you hide…._both_ of you…'

His voice, which had swelled in confidence, faded into an almost indiscernible whimper as Tess's face, with its halo of blonde hair, appeared above him. Her crimson grin was as broad as ever.

'Hello, angel,' she murmured, drifting a finger down his cheek. 'I wondered when you were going to join us again…'

Despite everything, Nigel Bailey was too much of a gentleman to spit in her face. He did bare his teeth, however, in a small act of defiance, as she began fondling the soft, damp hair above his forehead.

'Reiner!' he yelled, doing his utmost to ignore her, 'if you help me I'll put in a good word for you with Sydney… I'll even try and persuade her to give you that Incan dagger, the partner of the you took from her in South America! You know the one - they'll be worth a fortune together! More than the silly staff could ever….mph!'

Tess's smile cracked only for a second, while she clamped her hand down over Nigel's mouth.

'Oh, my angel,' she soothed, noting apathetically the terror flashing in her prey's delectable countenance, 'this will pain me much more than you realise. Things could have been so different if you weren't besotted with that awful American, and you weren't so clearly 'the one' that Earth Mother desires…sssh now!'

She slowly withdrew her fingers from his lips. With her other hand, she reached into her robes and pulled out the pearl-handled mediaeval knife, previously stolen and brandished by Henchard.

Nigel's throat was so contracted with fear that his words came out as a pale whisper: 'Um… shouldn't you wait until dawn…. according to all the texts the ritual shouldn't take place until dawn…'

'It's nearly dawn, my angel… your blood will still be warm!'

Nigel pretended, as well as he could, that he didn't hear these words. 'But what about the key? The key is still 'in' the pony! You won't find the staff without that…and then it will all be a waste of time! That would be a shame, wouldn't it?' From somewhere, he mustered a desperate, lop-sided smile.

Tess shrugged: 'the knife can cut through beast as well as man!'

His mortal fear for his own life momentarily diminishing, Nigel's mouth fell open in genuine disgust. He hated that pony, but Stewie didn't deserve to die, any more than he did! 'No! You wouldn't!' he stuttered. 'The Earth Mother, um, _gives_, not takes life…'

'Yes, I would,' said Tess casually. 'And the Earth Mother does what she sees as best! Man has molded religion to his will, for long enough. Welcome to the 21st-century version of female power, Nigel…' Tess trailed off, turned away, and then a portentous silence was broken by a scraping 'whizzy' noise. Nigel, tugging hopelessly against the ropes, could not smother a whimper of terror as he realised it was the sound of the knife being sharpened.

The awful grating ceased. Cool, clinical fingers unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and pulled apart the collar, the icy tips fizzing against now overly sensitive skin.

'Please,' whispered Nigel. 'Surely this isn't…necessary…?'

Light from the raised blade flashed in his face. Nigel screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the worst…

'No! I don't think this is the best thing to do!' The German-accented words cut through the dreadful atmosphere like a knife through flesh.

Exhaling tremulously, Nigel dared to peep. Reiner had saved him: the rival relic hunter's hand was hand grasped around Tess's wrist, disabling her knife-wielding blow. His trusty pistol was held against her side. Tess's looked like she might explode with fury, but she was stilled for now.

'This is madness!' snorted Reiner. 'No ritual can be worth more than I will get for that pair of daggers…'

Nigel wasn't sure whether to cheer or cry. He wanted to shout 'listen to the man', but his overcharged faculties were no longer in control of his body. He succeeded only in gawping up at him wildly, his heart pounding so madly that the whole log was shaking.

'And I don't want Sydney Fox hunting me down from one side of the Earth to the other,' continued Reiner. 'So I suggest we leave her assistant alive, get the staff, and then get out of here and decide upon the best way to extract the ransom.' The gun in his hand having renewed his confidence, he added: 'I'll still cut you in, 10 percent.'

'10 percent! You've got to be kidding me!'

The force of Tess's screech was so disarming that Reiner never saw the adroit back kick to his groin coming, or the easy slap with which she disposed of the gun.

Nigel, just gathering up his emotions, audibly groaned as Tess dodged Reiner's predictable retaliatory punch and socked him square on the jaw. She then delivered a rather unnecessary flying sidekick, a body blow that left Reiner writhing in the dirt - again.

'No!' Nigel couldn't help his cry. Tess casually picked up the knife, wiped the blade on her sleeve, and turned back towards him.

'No…please….'

Tess just smiled and smiled, as she muttered a barely understandable prayer in the Latin dialect of hell, and raised the knife again…

'Get away from him, you bitch!'

The words blasted out of total darkness. Tess, her senses more overwrought than her steely countenance signified, guessed wrongly from which direction the spinning kick would come. The knife flew from her hand, skittering across the ground, and stuttered to a halt near the fire.

'Syd?' shouted Nigel, his voice cracked with a mixture of hope and disbelief. 'I knew… I knew you'd come!'

Sydney flashed a breathless grin, and she dodged Tess's first retaliatory strike.

'Never doubted me, huh?' she winked at Nigel.

'Never!'

The conversation was cut short when Tess swung into a 360 degree scissor kick. It was a perfectly executed move, and sent Sydney flying backwards towards the bushes.

Sydney flinched at the repeated force placed on her ankle, and barely prevented herself tumbling. Mustering all her wits, she transformed Tess's forceful shove to her own advantage, sweeping around into a soaring kick to the head. Tess ducked, plummeting unexpectedly to the ground, reaching hungrily for the knife

'Girl, you're good,' Syd muttered under her breath, the smallest hint of respect quenched by the fires of hatred. 'But I'm not a one trick pony… maybe there's nothing to chose between us if we both fight like eastern masters, but what if I fight like a western _woman_?'

Sydney dived on top of Tess, just as she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the blade. Taking a handful of blonde locks, Sydney yanked them hard: Tess's head flew back, her neck wrenching with a crack.

'Two can play that game!' Tess gracelessly elbowed Sydney in the stomach, jettisoning her enemy before Syd's outstretched fingernails reached their target. The now dishevelled barmaid hauled herself up, the knife still in her hand, as Sydney staggered upright. Their eyes locked, dripping with mutual contempt.

'The Earth Mother _will_ have her offering!' Tess's guttural voice echoed around the clearing.

'The Earth Mother likes her men alive!' rejoindered Sydney, rolling her eyes. 'Hell, you've got to be a real _freak _not to…'

'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh'

They screamed as one, leaping forward and clashing mid air. Landing in a crumpled heap, they rolled across the ground together, a fireball of raw energy and aggression, grappling for control of the knife.

…………………………………………..

Just metres away, Nigel was wriggling impatiently as Carolyn struggled to untie the ropes that bound him to the log. His hands were proving particularly tricky.

'Please hurry!' he hissed. 'Surely all that camping in the swinging Sixties made you good at knots?'

Carolyn, although concentrating hard, nearly choked on her reply: 'I think not, dear! We may have danced barefoot through the flowers, but I always went home to a comfortable bed. Nature is only _so _inviting… Tess was a Girl Guide, though.'

'I can well believe that,' replied Nigel bitterly. Spotting Sydney and Tess, matching each other blow for blow, he tugged hopefully, at his tethered wrist. 'Hurry!'

'It would help if you stopped squirming, dear…ah!' Carolyn's face lit up as the rope finally unravelled. 'Got it!'

As Nigel rapidly untangled himself, he darted another look across at the combatants. They were back on their feet again, their hair flowing loose and wild. Tess's lips dripped with blood, while Sydney's top was badly ripped, hanging halfway off her shoulder, revealing four nasty scratches, the vicious work of Tess's nails. Her face glowed with a terrible radiance. She was ready from more; ready for whatever it took to save him…

Nigel inhaled sharply: was this the woman he loved, or a creature in her state of grace, nature raw in tooth and claw? Either way, it excited him…

As Tess kicked at Sydney's bad ankle, causing her to cry out, Nigel realised there was no time for impetuous lust. He grabbed the largest log he could lift easily, sprinted into the fray, and swung it with all his might against the back of Tess's head. She crashed down onto her hands and knees, her anguished scream fading into nothingness, as her face splattered into the mud.

'Good work, Nigel!'

As her eyes made his, he saw the animal had fled. Her deep brown orbs projected affection, friendship, love: all pure, all human…all his?

They fell, panting, into each other's arms.

'Sydney, are you okay?'

'Fine… just a scratch.' She pulled away, quickly hitching her top back onto her shoulder. 'What about you?'

'It was close… but I'm all right. Thanks to you…'

He lifted his fingers and brushed her cheek gently, as they lingered for a beautiful moment on the verge of a kiss. 'This seems so strange, so new,' thought Sydney, 'and so natural…'

The jagged words ripped between them: 'I can't believe you're going to kiss your new guy, Sydney! The only reason he's alive is down to me!'

'Oh dear!' Carolyn, who had taken a seat on the log, hoping to enjoy the ensuing romance, had not even noticed Reiner emerging: 'That nasty man's got a gun!'

Sydney and Nigel swivelled to see Reiner, trigger-happy as ever. With his other hand, he was holding up a shiny key. 'Look what I've got, Sydney.'

Sydney's jaw dropped, as she recognised the mediaeval implement that had been scoffed out of Nigel's back: 'Where did you get that?'

'Where do you think?' sneered Reiner. Behind him, glowed the beady eyes of Stewie. The pony had, finally, done his business – for Reiner.

'Heart of darkness!' muttered Nigel. 'I knew that bloody pony was evil.'

'I'm waiting, Sydney!' barked Reiner, brandishing the gun threateningly. 'Tell me what you do with the key?'

**Thanks for reading. If you've been enjoying this story, as I said, please, please, please review me. I'm now planning my next stories, and feedback is just so helpful - and also makes me very, very happy! k x**


	11. The joys of spring

**Disclaimers: as ever. **

**Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter. You made me very happy!**

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE JOYS OF SPRING

'I'm waiting!' barked Reiner, brandishing the gun threateningly. 'Tell me what you do with the key!'

Sydney was standing still as a statue, all except for her eyes, which leapt like wildfire, seeking a solution. She groaned internally as Reiner rested his wandering aim on Nigel, who now stood beside her.

'Sydney, I'm waiting. Tell me how to find the staff, or this time I _will_ shoot him!'

'My best guess,' said Sydney bitterly, 'is that the first rays of sun will reveal something on, or inside, the barrow. So if you'd stop waving your favourite comforter around, we would be best off watching the sunrise real carefully!'

A Sydney spoke, Tess, who had regained her senses, began raising herself unsteadily to her feet. 'She's right,' mumbled the barmaid. 'You're wasting time.'

Sydney snarled at her female nemesis: no way was she working with _that_ bitch!

'Reiner, if you put that thing down, I'll do my best to make sure you don't end up in jail with your new friend here… at least, not for so long. With _her_ they're going to throw away the key!' Sydney spat these final words with venom.

'That's all very well Sydney,' drawled Reiner, 'but you will take the staff and put it in a silly museum. Sorry…no deal. Now, you and the other two women work out what I do with the key. I'll keep an eye on your assistant!'

The German relic hunter motioned with his gun in such a way as to indicate that the women should turn around and watch the sunrise, and that Nigel should come over to him. He waved his arm wildly, with expansive, sweeping motions, which could not fail to draw the attention of the sleepy pony, which still stood just inches behind him…

Stewie sensed the swooshing of aggressive movement; he perceived threat, and saw red.

'Aaaaaaargh!'

Reiner cried out in anguish and surprise as blunt little teeth ground through the fabric of his jacket, and sunk deep into the flesh of his arm. He swerved around to face the culprit.

'You evil beast!' He raised his preferred 'boy's toy.' 'I should have done this, hours ago…'

Before his finger could even twitch on the trigger, however, the gun flew from his hand, Sydney's high kick sending it hurtling into the air.

'I'll get it Sydney…'

As Sydney delivered a follow-up punch that nearly knocked Reiner out cold, Nigel launched himself after the flying weapon. So did Tess, and she was closer…

It was a split-second decision between chivalry and possible death, and life. Nigel chose the latter.

He rugby tackled the unsuspecting barmaid as she strained towards the flying pistol, grabbing her around the knees and sending her walloping back down into the dirt. Landing on top of her legs, his nose nearly buried in her thighs, Nigel did his best not to trample too rudely on the young lady - instinct rather than choice - as he scrambled up and over her. After surreptitiously elbowing her in the nose – better safe than sorry, he reckoned - it was Nigel who wrapped his fingers firmly around the weapon, and swiped it out of Tess's reach.

'_Great_ work!' cried Sydney, shaking out her hands, which had just been in contact with items that even _she_ would rather have not touched! As well as dealing with Reiner, she had just picked up, wiped on a leaf, and safely concealed the key. She knew exactly where _that_ had been for the last two days! Carolyn, who had been hovering uncomfortably behind the log, emerged, offering a round of applause.

'Yes, well done, Nigel!' she exclaimed. 'And well done _Stewie_! I take it this is Stewie?'

'Yes, it is,' admitted Nigel, slightly begrudging the pony his share of the praise.

'Surely an angel of Mother Earth!' exclaimed Carolyn, regarding the shabby creature with admiration. Nigel couldn't suppress a cringe - it was still 'that bloody pony,' even if it had helped save the day.

'Ah well,' he sighed, ignoring Reiner's killer stare, and Tess's piteous moans. 'It's time that least _two_ of us asserted some _male_ power around here - and actually succeeded! But, if we want to find this damned relic, hadn't we better be watching for the sunrise?'

His words were prophetic. The clouds of the night had drifted away and, at that moment, the first inklings of a clear, yellow dawn began breaking in the west.

……………………………………

Sydney and Nigel untethered Stewie, keeping a careful eye on the distance between his jaw and their fingers, and used the strap to firmly bind Tess and Reiner together. All the while, Carolyn watched the sunrise, and busied herself pulling any potentially obstructive branches out of the way of the approaching shafts of light.

As the first sun of spring pierced the heart of the forest, a hushed tranquillity drifted through the air like an ethereal spirit, stilling their tongues and snatching their breath. Even Tess and Reiner, who had been grumbling continually, fell respectfully silent.

Sydney carefully marked the patch where it fell on the grassy, overgrown top of the barrow above the door, but could see nothing extraordinary there. Their nerves humming with anticipation, Nigel, Sydney and Carolyn followed the path of the sunlight as it edged onwards away from the door of the mound.

After minutes had passed, with no revelatory wonders, Nigel asked: 'Do you really think that the staff is hidden somewhere here on the top?' He sounded slightly sceptical.

Sydney darted him an uneasy, contemplative look: 'It doesn't seem likely. I was expecting the sun to strike first somewhere _in_ the entrance of the barrow.'

'Do you think the trees could have blocked it?' interjected Carolyn, unable to conceal her disappointment. 'Oh dear!'

'Possibly,' ruminated Sydney, 'unless… Nigel!' She turned to her assistant abruptly. 'Quick! Go and look inside the barrow. See if you can find the end of that small vent I discovered last night!'

An excited grin flashed across Nigel's face. 'Of course! Syd - you're brilliant! That must have been mediaeval addition...' He leapt off the side of the barrow and sprinted inside as Sydney began ripping the greenery away from the far end of the barrow. Locating a small indent, she frantically scooped out layers of sand and dust with her fingers and twigs. Carolyn joined her, pulling aside anything that could block the magisterial progress of the sun.

When Nigel reached the back of the main chamber, it was still almost pitch black. He squinted to see, his heart sinking. Maybe the theory was wrong? He stepped back towards the entrance, just in case he was blocking something.

Then a tiny spark flickered upon a stone slab at the far end.

Nigel gasped. The ray of the first sunlight of spring had indeed struck right to the back of the deep, dark tomb.

Tingling with expectation, he touched the illuminated spot on the wall. Heat seeped into his fingers with the intensity of a laser beam. He discerned a small niche. Like the vent, it had been nearly sealed up with the dust and grime of ages.

'Sydney!' he hollered. 'I've found something!'

By the time Sydney and Carolyn reached him, Nigel had uncovered a distinctive shaped hole in the wall.

'It's a keyhole!' he grinned excitedly. 'It's certainly not prehistoric, but it could be…'

'…mediaeval!' finished Sydney. Carolyn whipped out her flashlight, while Sydney took the key from where she had cosseted it, down her top. The silver object flashed luminously as the ray of light caught its shine - a considerable feat considering where it had spent the previous few days! Sydney slotted it into the hole, where it fitted perfectly, and twisted it gently.

There was a dull clunk: the front of the slab began to swing forward.

'My goodness!' exclaimed Carolyn. 'A compartment! I'm surprised the world's foremost relic hunter didn't locate that before.'

'It was dark!' protested Nigel.

'… and we had other things to do,' interjected Sydney, 'like finding a way out!'

'True, true,' conceded Carolyn, as Sydney shot Nigel a cheeky wink. There certainly _had_ been other things to do!

'Heavens!' Carolyn's attention was grabbed back, as was Sydney's and Nigel's, as the contents of the compartment were fully revealed. There, standing upright in a wall holster, was a long, gilded staff, as tall as Sydney herself. As legend had told, it was lustrous, bejeweled with emeralds and rubies, apparently embodying the most ungodly extravagances of the mediaeval church.

Sensing no apparent danger from touching it, Sydney reach forward and tried to lift the relic from its supports. The staff was heavy - heavier than she had expected, even after seeing its embellished state. Nigel reached forward to help her.

'It's amazing,' she whispered as they lifted it together. 'And so heavy! This thing must have been worth a fortune in any age.'

Carolyn shook her head agitatedly. 'It doesn't make sense,' she mused. 'If Odo - the Lady Odo - really worshipped Mother Earth, why would her staff boast of all the wealth of the most ungodly man of the cloth? I knew the legends of the staff, but I always hoped they would prove untrue, and that the staff would reveal more of the gentle, nature worshipper I always believed in.'

Sydney narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. 'You're right. But then Odo has already surprised us once. Mediaeval Bishop's staffs are never this broad - I've got a hunch this relic is not quite that it appears to be.' She ran her fingers over the thickest part of the staff, tracing a seam in the metalwork. Finding a small catch, she flicked it forward.

'My God, Syd!' exclaimed Nigel, as light fell upon the much smaller secret apartment, within the staff itself, that fell open. 'Is that what I think it is?'

Sydney reverently picked out a crudely carved, voluptuously curved female figurine. 'Yes – it's the Earth Mother herself! Odo truly _did_ worship the Goddess!'

'It looks like she is made of the same limestone as the monoliths,' garbled Nigel. 'If she really is Neolithic, it will be the first find of this kind in northern Europe. It could revolutionise current thinking about prehistoric religion!''

Sydney, smiling delightedly and shaking her head in nigh disbelief, handed the statue to Carolyn. 'There you go. Odo was using the worldly riches of the church to conceal her worship of the Earth Mother all along…'

'… which is slightly sacrilegious,' butted in Nigel. 'But I suppose that the 13th Century church was pretty corrupt. Maybe, in her own way, she was bringing _some_ purity back to religion.'

'She's beautiful,' murmured Carolyn, reverentially running the tips of her fingers over the figurine's undulating shape. 'She was thousands of years old even before Lady Odo found her. I wonder if she discovered the idol in the forest as a girl, and the Earth Mother somehow empowered her?'

'I guess that's something we will never quite know,' replied Sydney. 'But this relic, along with the stone circle and the barrow, is more than enough to save your forest from developers a dozen times over. I think you can safely say that the Earth Mother has done her job!'

'She was helped, Professor,' said Carolyn, grasping Sydney's fingers with the hand that wasn't clutching the Goddess. 'Thank you! And thank you, Nigel. You truly are special, returning to save the forest - just as I knew you would!'

'It's been a pleasure, well…well, mostly,' confirmed Nigel, graciously motioning that Carolyn should pass him by and lead them out of the barrow. 'And there was no need for any silly, um, rituals, after all…'

……………………………..

As she passed through the mouth of the barrow, Carolyn paused and held the deity aloft. Sydney, at her shoulder, heard the words the 'sister' offered: a short, heartfelt prayer for new life, regeneration and to the joys of spring and love. Then she moved on.

In her wake, Sydney hesitated to shut her eyes, feeling the sunlight kiss her lids. 'I'll second that,' she murmured. 'Here's to life and love…'

'What's that?' demanded Tess, straining to turn her head to see the statue from where she was still tied to Reiner.

'It was inside the staff, dear,' said Carolyn airily. 'It's a prehistoric idol of the Earth Mother.'

Tess's face suddenly glowed with grim desire: 'An idol! So that's why the staff was so powerful… quick! Carolyn, you must spill his blood. You have the gun - kill them both!'

Carolyn stared at her for a second, as if contemplating her options. Sydney's hand twitched slightly: surely there was no need for her to reach for the knife? She darted a look at Nigel. He was glaring at Tess, but looked relaxed enough. He obviously trusted Carolyn completely.

As Sydney relaxed, Carolyn shook her head slowly and sadly. 'Why this bloodlust, Tess? The Earth Mother gives, not takes life…'

'You said it yourself!' interrupted Tess, vitriolically. 'The Earth Mother's powers will be unleashed when we offer a man to be her husband!'

'Well, yes,' admitted Carolyn, 'but we haven't got a clue what that means, really, have we? the Latin word _vitualamen_, found in Odo's text about the ritual, literally means _offering_, not sacrifice and I always interpreted it in the spirit of the 60s. All the girls would cast off their worldly garments and dance around the lad who is the 'chosen one' to be _offered_ - whatever _that_ means - and chant a few well chosen prayers. Of course, there is normally a _little_ bit of kissing and cuddling, if the victim is willing…'

Nigel gawped at her, disbelieving. '_That's_ the ritual?' he stuttered.

'Yes dear, I thought I told you. At least, that's the ritual as the Forest Sisterhood have always performed it, with great success - well, for the boys involved its least. The local lads who took part in the Bunny Chase were always game until that awful man Henchard started spreading rumours about us. Before that, the boys always found the whole experience rather enjoyable. It seems to bring out their artistic side. One lad who we 'chose' a few years ago, left straight after to pursue his dreams, and has now been nominated for the Turner Art prize. Another young chap departed to see the world, and is currently dancing with the Bolshoi Ballet!'

'So absolutely nobody has been sacrificed or gone mad? Even with Tess about?'

'Not at all,' chuckled Carolyn. 'I think they all found it rather liberating. And _this_ harlot only joined us last year!' Here she gestured at Tess dismissively. 'I'm unsure what to blame for her bad behaviour. Either it's a natural propensity to evil, or a very poor education in the Classics.'

'I'm the only sane one here,' screeched Tess. 'You'll never unleash the Earth Mother's powers like this! It is your last chance Carolyn. Untie me, and _I'll_ do it!'

'Oh dear,' tutted Carolyn. 'I think maybe she's just stupid.' She turned to Tess and addressed her like a school ma'am would a particularly dense pupil: 'Don't you see, dear? The Earth Mother has already saved the forest, and guaranteed the renewal of life for evermore, just by being found. After we've deposited you at the police station, I'm going straight home to phone UNESCO and have this place declared a World Heritage Site!'

Great,' grinned Sydney, squeezing Nigel's arm with satisfied pleasure. 'And then _we're_ heading back to the Flighty Filly Inn for a nice, hot bath!'

'Not a moment too soon!' Nigel's words were particularly heartfelt. 'I've never looked forward to anything more in my…'

'Aaaaaaaaaaaarghheeeeeeeeee!'

Nigel stopped short as a strange, squealing shattered the peace of the forest. Sydney's hand clamped tighter around his, as a group of five girls, with bedraggled hair and running makeup, scrambled towards them through the trees. They were evidently a few of Nigel's pursuers from the Bunny Chase, who had become lost and then traipsed around the forest all night.

'It's the cute one!' cried one.

'We've found him…' yelled another.

'Nigel - we loooooooooooooooooove you!'

'Girls, girls!' said Carolyn raising her hand in a calming manner. 'I'm sorry, but he can't possibly be 'the one' this year. He's spoken for.'

'Sorry,' grinned Sydney smugly, firmly looping her arm around Nigel's shoulder. 'I caught him first!'

'Actually, I did!' jutted in Tess. Sydney stared daggers at her, stabbing the blonde back into silent, sulky submission. It was then she noticed her assistant giving her a decidedly shifty, sidelong glance.

'It would be a bit of a shame if the Earth Mother never got her offering,' said Nigel innocently. Turning his gaze back towards the gaggle of attractive girls, all in their late teens and early twenties, he added. 'It's all harmless really, and it might be rather fun…'

'Nigel!' Sydney's jaw dropped. 'You're not serious?'

'Um…. no, of course not,' said Nigel, almost convincingly. 'Unless you're the chief worshipper, of course!'

'Of _you_ or the Earth Mother?' laughed Sydney.

'Oh, um, either will too,' replied Nigel. He regarded the girls again, who had been joined by at least a dozen hungry-eyed companions, and it dawned on him that he may have spoken too lightly. The squeaking and pointing had started again, as words spread among them that the victim was willing!

'Actually, Sydney,' said Nigel, tugging her shirt in sudden alarm. 'I think we'd better get out of here…'

…………………………………..

After a few hours of chaos, all was peace and tranquillity back at the Flighty Filly Inn. Tess and Reiner had been dragged off by the authorities - although Sydney quietly wondered whether the law would fall as heavy on either of them as they deserved. Reiner, at least, she expected to see back on the relic hunting circuit in no time at all, and she wasn't entirely sorry. In his own selfish way, he _had_ saved Nigel's life, even if her warm memories of that igloo had now been eclipsed by the darkness of a prehistoric barrow…

Valerie and the 'girls' had been persuaded to release Henchard from the dungeon of Comb Castle. The bald, thuggish Mayor of Little Hintock had been furious, but he agreed not to press charges when Syd reminded him that she could have him arrested herself, for one count of breaking and entering, one count of theft and two of assault. Henchard had then shuffled quietly away, not _entirely_ an unhappy man: he may not have been able to bulldoze half the forest now, but he was already hatching plans to make as much money as possible out of the extra tourists that Carolyn's World Heritage Site would bring to the area. Psydo-celtic gifts, books on druids and pretty, smelly crystals always sold well! Maybe those 'silly women' had been of use to him after all!

After that, Syd and Nigel had rediscovered Giles in the pub, and he had joined them, with a pint of local real ale, to revel in the excitement of their find.

'I don't know who was more chuffed,' smiled Nigel as he and Syd finally passed through the door into the bedroom. 'Carolyn or Giles!'

'Giles certainly looked pretty pleased with himself,' laughed Sydney, rolling her eyes at the memory of the museum curator, who had beamed from ear to ear as he spoke of his new Odo exhibit, which would display the necklace, staff and the knife. The knife, it turned out, had been discovered by Carolyn in the cathedral while researching her dissertation in the 1960s. She swore to the Earth Mother that it had no more sinister purpose than a fruit-knife, and had kept it safe until the mayor had stolen it with the robes – and then it had fallen into the hands of psychotic Tess. However, what had made Giles _really _happy, was that he could plan his new display with the help of the girl of his dreams: one of the 'sisters who had caught him had been Harriet, the pretty, bubbly librarian of the South Wessex Mobile Book Bus Service. It had been love at first sight!

'I think Giles was probably happiest,' said Nigel knowingly. 'Love really _is_ in the air…' He bounced down onto the bed, flinging himself backwards with an enthusiastic grin on his face. 'I've never seen a bed look so inviting! I think I could be happy here for a week!'

'Oh yeah?' said Sydney slyly, flinging her satchel down. 'You must be a tired boy. Or maybe you've got other plans?'

Nigel blushed, ever so slightly, then answered hesitatingly: 'Only if…you have?'

Sydney smiled enigmatically and peeled off her mud-splattered jacket. 'Of course, I haven't a clue what _you've_ got in mind, but the immediate plan _I've_ got for now is to take a bath!'

'Oh!' said Nigel, realising that he was also spreading soil and indeterminate muck all over the feather pillow and eiderdown. 'That's not a bad idea. I'll…um, take one after you?'

'Okay,' said Sydney, turning away so he could not see her bite her lip, repressing a giggle. 'I'll save some water.'

She whipped off her top, and peeped over her shoulder to confirm that Nigel was pretending to be utterly embroiled in brushing the dirt off the bed covers. She knew his eyes, as ever, were on no such thing!

It didn't surprise her, even after everything, that Nigel was still reserved. She knew it would be down to her to make him get used to what _had_ changed, but she just couldn't help teasing him a little. Besides, who could resist that awkward half smile he was giving her, now that she had caught his eye and knew that his peeping had been rumbled?

'Oh, Nigel,' wondered Sydney to herself, half amused, half yearning. 'Am I really going to have to spell out in words of one syllable just how much I want you?'

She opened her mouth to speak, but he got in first. 'Sydney…I…I know you meant what you said - I wouldn't do you the dishonour of not believing you – but are you sure that this…all this…um, new stuff, is what you _really _want? For us… our relationship? We could go back to as it was before - I won't mind. Nothing would have changed.'

'Quite sure,' replied Sydney, with a ring of honesty. 'Are _you_ sure, Nigel? I mean, I'm hardly the average girl you'd take on a date!'

'Of course, I'm sure!' Nigel was on his feet and crossing the carpet, his arms around her in an instant. 'It's not like I'm going into this with my eyes shut…but what am I…what are _we_ starting here?'

Sydney grinned, her arms encircling his shoulders. 'We're not _starting_ anything. We're continuing a great romance! I guess it's just taken us a while to catch up with the plot!'

She fell silent, as Nigel's lips brushed against hers. Suddenly acutely aware of the uniquely confident, gentle way he was holding her Sydney sighed inwardly, with an undiluted pleasure. Sydney returned the kiss with an impetuous passion, hungrily seizing a handful of his hair and pulling him in closer, ever closer.

'That part of the plot was definitely in the here and now,' he whispered as they finally drifted apart.

Sydney flattered her long, dark lashes with a playful coyness: 'So no more ridiculous talk of taking a bath _after_ me?'

'Absolutely not,' affirmed Nigel, with some confidence.

Great,' said Sydney, her eyes dancing with pleasure. 'You'd better take your clothes off, then!'

The tiniest hint of panic glimmered across Nigel's face. It wasn't like they hadn't been naked together before, a couple of times, or even, _up close_ and naked. But, in the barrow, it had been very, very dark!

'I'll go and run the bath,' whispered Sydney, reading his discomfort. 'I'll be waiting!'

She slipped into the bathroom, smoothing her tongue over moist lips. She was willing to give Nigel a bit of time… well, about two minutes!

Nigel, swallowing his self-consciousness, barely resisted the temptation to jump up and down on the bed with joy. He ripped his jumper off over his head, and began undoing his shirt, his fingers so trembling with elation that he fumbled with even his _own_ buttons. Pausing momentarily, before he went 'in for the kill' and removed his trousers, his unfocused gaze suddenly snapped onto something in the grassy green, pony-populated field by the pub.

' Sydney! Isn't that…quick! Come look!'

Sydney emerged from the bathroom, wearing only the smallest of fluffy, white towels, which covered her between just below her shoulders and her thighs. Her damp hair sparkled, descending in picturesque spirals onto bare, bronzed shoulders. Nigel did not even turn his head. He was standing at the window, his nose practically pressed against the glass, staring ahead of him.

'What is it?'

'Isn't that…Stewie?'

Sydney's visions of impromptu cult rituals, or an escaped Tess on the warpath, quickly vanished as Nigel pointed to the grey, pointed-eared pony, who was mooching on the nearside of the field.

'Yeah, I think it is!' said Sydney, slowly, raising her eyebrows as she realised why Nigel was so compelled. 'And it looks like he's found…'

'…love?' completed Nigel, a grin spreading across his face. Standing close to Stewie was a beautiful jet-black filly. They were rubbing noses affectionately, their tails swishing as one.

'Hey,' said Sydney. 'She's pregnant!'

Nigel squinted at the profile of the little black pony, and detected the pronounced curve of her tummy. 'So she is! Do you think Stewie is the dad?'

'Maybe,' mused Syd. 'They look like they're pleased to see each other. Ponies usually stay together and raise their young in families. Maybe Stewie got separated somehow?'

'That could be why he was so grumpy!' retorted Nigel. 'But, somehow, I don't find him quite as repulsive now.'

'No, I think it's kind of sweet,' smiled Sydney. 'Carolyn's prayer to the Earth Mother really must have worked. Look at it out there. Now the sun has come out, the whole world is exploding with nature!'

She was right. The fields and forests were brimming with life. The flocks of ponies were interspersed with nibbling rabbits, gently swaying wildflowers in a variety of delicate hues, and swooping birds, foraging for their nests. The trees had flourished into blossom overnight, and were bathing in the mild spring sun. Nigel began to wonder if _all_ the more pleasant aspects of his dream in the tent were on the brink of coming true…

'Hey, at this rate,' laughed Sydney, 'even _our_ Stewie might find love, if he came here. I'd pity the poor girl, though!'

'Me too,' replied Nigel, with some emphasis. 'Love really is in the air!' Catching her eye with a sidelong glance he added: 'It seems a bit of a shame to go.'

'It does,' said Sydney, with a hint of wistfulness.

'Really?' Nigel turned to face her, catching his breath as his suspicions concerning just how ravishing she looked, which he'd gathered from furtive glimpses, were fully affirmed. He fought the instinct to blush and turn away. He almost succeeded.

'Yeah,' continued Sydney. 'There are lots of good reasons we should hang around for a few days. Giles and Harriet will need help with the Odo exhibit, and the local archaeologists are going to need help uncovering the rest of that Stone Circle.'

Nigel's lips flickered into a knowing smile. 'You never stay around for that sort of stuff, Sydney: no rival relic hunters, no sense of danger, not even a gentle race against time. You'd get bored!'

'Well, that is a shame,' she sighed, scanning a pair of laughingly predatory eyes over his bare torso. 'I've already called Karen and asked her to reschedule my lectures for the next four days. How _are_ we going to fill all that time?'

Nigel slipped his arms around her waist. 'Well,' he whispered tentatively. 'I have a _few _ideas…'

'You know, so have I,' murmured Sydney, melting into his embrace. 'I think it's time that you and I sampled the joys of spring.'

THE END

**Thanks for reading! I've had lots of fun with this, and I hope you have. Please review me, I love feedback, and will take any suggestions into account in what I write next. So far, I've got planned (with the help of Tanya Reed) another shippy story, and a fantasy AU fic. But there's plenty of time - what sort of story would _you_ like me to write? Thanks. **

**PS - the dedication on this story is to my friend, Ivoryrose, for her birthday, but I'm sure she won't mind sharing this last chapter with my husband of four days, Chris. This part was for both of you. :) **

**PPS – Please review!!! **


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